Rogue Operative
by Theodore Hawkwood
Summary: In a world besieged by the Heartless, SAS officer Rusty Puckett defies orders to rescue the woman he loves. A Kingdom Hearts crossover fic with my original ideas and many Disney and non-Disney franchises. Up next, killing Claude Frollo...
1. Desert Raider

Desert Raider  
  
Disclaimer: I don't the Kingdom Hearts or any other franchise mentioned here. In a world besieged by the Heartless, SAS officer Rusty Puckett defies orders to rescue the woman he loves. This fic will include other theme parks and franchises other than Disney.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Another enemy bomber exploded as I dropped a Lewes bomb into its engine compartment. Judging by the way I placed it, I must've hit a fuel tank or the like. The Lewes is an effective explosive, I think, it's a light one pound thing that packs quite a wallop when placed in sensitive spots in an aircraft and since I'm carrying nineteen others, I've got the potential to demolish nineteen more planes.  
  
Behind me, Digger's shooting a magazine into the radio of the airfield we've attacked. It's only lightly defended by the Heartless, but it's got a plump target rating. I have my Sten machine pistol at my side for self defense as well as a Browning automatic.  
  
Around me, the other twelve blokes of 1 SAS are raising all the havoc they can on the Heartless. "Digger, watch out!" I shout as I gun down a Bandit that was going to run him through.  
  
As we're shooting the place to hell a couple of LRDG (Long Range Desert Group) trucks speed in and the lot of us clamor into the back and fire off rounds as we drive off into the night.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Two years later: The Regiment was formed to strike behind enemy lines almost two years ago when the Heartless hit our world. We grew from an initial force of 70 officers and enlisted men to almost two Regiments worth of approximately 250 to 300 men apiece. We're his Majesty's best force for small, rapid, strikes behind enemy lines. I was with her during her infancy, when we were just getting started, being dubbed the Special Air Service.  
  
"Good morning lieutenant," says an officer, an American officer named Colonel Hosgrove, "I suppose your wondering why you've been transferred here to London."  
  
"Yes sir." I reply, candidly, "1 SAS is still on the frontlines on the Olympia front."  
  
"You came with high recommendations from Major Gates, your squadron commander. You've been with 1 SAS since its formation?" Hosgrove asks.  
  
"Yes sir." I reply, not sure what the hell that has to do with anything.  
  
"I know you consider yourself another anonymous fighting man in ranks, but you're not." Hosgrove continues, "As I said before, you volunteered for the SAS as soon as you were able to. I believe you were a 2nd Lieutenant fresh out of school. To the rest of the Army of Britannica and indeed to most other units you guys are seen as a group of scruffy looking nonconformists."  
  
At this I'm suddenly feeling self conscious, clad in my dusty khaki desert fatigues, my rather worn officer's cap tucked under my left arm and my roller necked sweater having an oil stain from my last mission a little over twenty four hours before I was flown in a Wellington bomber back to London from Olympia. Hosgrove by contrast is every inch the spit and polished US Army officer. His shoes are polished to a high gloss, the creases in his trousers can cut bread, his ribbons and warfare devices are all brand new. His hair is cut in a neat crew cut where mine has grown out a bit.  
  
"You're exactly the sort of man we need, Puckett." Hosgrove replied, "I don't suppose you've heard of the Office of Strategic Services."  
  
I shake my head, as he continues, "We're equivalent to your world's Special Operations Executive. We're a cloak and dagger force dedicated to taking on the Heartless deep behind the lines, we nip their attacks at the bud, you might say."  
  
I know a little of SOE, they're a unit that parachutes secret agents behind enemy lines to teach resistance movements a thing or two about fighting the Heartless. They've sometimes asked for help from 1 SAS and we've done our bit to help with their cloak and dagger operations.  
  
"You were part of a bad parachute drop with the first operation. Out of the over sixty officers and men to drop in, you were one four officers to survive." Hosgrove continues, "Over the next two years you participated in hundreds of small, effective raids behind enemy lines. In effect you're exactly the sort of man we need."  
  
There's a knock on the door and Hosgrove says, "Come in."  
  
The visitor does so and I am graced with the sight of a woman I've not seen for nearly three years. She is slim, athletically figured, with short dark brown hair and eyes, standing about 5'6" to my 5'8". As my face registers recognition, so does hers.  
  
"You know each other lieutenant?" Hosgrove asks.  
  
"Yes sir." Both of us reply simultaneously. I'm feeling more self conscious, because my dusty fatigues and sweater contrast sharply with her crisp, clean summer white uniform, marking her as a lieutenant junior grade in the US Navy.  
  
"That should make the transition easier." Hosgrove replies, "Lieutenant Schonke, Mr. Puckett will be working with us for now."  
  
Diane Schonke smiles at me, that same warm friendly smile that cuts right through any pretensions of shielding I have around my heart. I smile back, a smile that's kinda hidden under about four days worth of beard growth. What is it about this woman?  
  
"Well, lieutenants, if there are no questions, I believe Puckett might want to grab a shower, shave and change of uniform." Hosgrove says.  
  
"No arguments here sir." I reply.  
  
"Very well, dismissed." Hosgrove says.  
  
Again I walk out into the expansive corridors of a Victorian estate just outside of London. OSS/SOE Headquarters is housed on the land of Sir David Niles, former member of His Majesty's Secret Service. The officers, myself included, are housed in the main house's spare bedrooms, of which there are a considerable amount. The enlisted personnel reside in billets built on the estate. Not something I'm too fond of, mind you, the almost aristocratic division between man and officer. It's almost medieval in its form and about as modern. Not so in the SAS, we are often characterized as rogues because of the closeness of relation between officer and man. That's because we rely on each other behind enemy lines. There is no room for the elitist snobbery that the more rank conscious structures have a tendency to produce in our unit.  
  
Diane's giving me the tour of the place as we walk down the corridors, "The dining room doubles as our officer's mess, or wardroom in Navy-speak. The communication's office is housed in the mansion's study. The drawing room is our briefing area and also doubles as our lounge and officer's club."  
  
This whole area just radiates, 'Just For Officers'. Bollocks to it. I'm not big into the throwing about of rank that I see occurring in regular units, and that's why what I had in A Squadron, 1 SAS appeals to me. We then pass by a number of guest rooms upstairs, each with names on them.  
  
"This is where we the officers live. The senior and staff NCOs are housed in the servants quarters on the first floor and the junior enlisted live in the auxiliary servants quarters in the garden." Diane explains as we stop at a door with the name plate, 1st Lt. Rusty Puckett, 1 SAS on it. I also share the room with two blokes from the RAF. I drop my kit next to the unoccupied bed and as soon as Diane leaves the room to attend to other duties, I strip off my uniform and boots and take a shower.  
  
By the time I've thrown on a fresh uniform and sweater it's already dinner time, so I head downstairs into the main dining room which is where the officers eat. The enlisted mess and NCOs mess are in the two secondary dining rooms in the estate.  
  
A bronze complexioned, older fellow of Greek origins passes by me as I walk down the staircase. "Excuse me, sir, I couldn't help but notice that you're a member of the Regiment."  
  
"The one and only 1 SAS." I reply proudly, "Color Sergeant."  
  
I can tell he's a member of the Atlantis Sacred Squadron. When the Heartless overran the world of Atlantis, many Atlanteans formed various Free Atlantis regiments in Britannica. Quite a few, about fifty, actually, reinforced us after the disaster of our first operation. They became known as the Atlantis Sacred Squadron, dedicated to freeing the Lost Continent from the Heartless. They were damn fierce fighters in and out of water, but since the former was their specialty, after the Egypt campaign they were sent off with the Special Boat Service, the maritime equivalent of the SAS.  
  
"Mr. Puckett, can that be you?" the Color Sergeant replies.  
  
"Yes." I reply, then I look harder. I know this man, I served with him in Egypt during the desert campaign.  
  
"Color Sergeant Nikolas Kyprios."  
  
"You picked up Color Sergeant? You bag of shit." I joke.  
  
"They let you be an officer? You bag of shit." He replies, genuinely glad to see a familiar face. Despite the fact that I outrank him, Nikolas has been fighting wars longer than I've been alive, so it behooves me to listen to his sage advice. He's in his mid-forties, with the sallow, jaundiced look of a veteran soldier. He served with the royal guard of his king, until his sovereign lord was killed by the Heartless.  
  
"On a more serious note, don't turn into Major Darby. Bitter, vindictive bastard if I ever saw one." Nikolas replies.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Lieutenant Puckett?" an orderly says, walking into the small drawing room with a file for me.  
  
"Yes." I reply.  
  
"Colonel Hosgrove wishes to speak to you, sir." The orderly replies.  
  
Dutifully I head for the ornate office that has been designated for the Colonel and knock on the door, "1st Lieutenant Puckett reporting as ordered, sir."  
  
"Come in." Hosgrove says, "I trust you found the accommodations to your liking."  
  
"Yes sir." I reply. In reality I'd rather be out in the field with my unit. 1 SAS is still kicking ass and taking names on the Olympia front.  
  
"Well, I'm sorry you couldn't settle in for a few days more, but something important just cropped up. This is your first assignment." Hosgrove says, "It's an assignment, frankly, that someone of your caliber is ideally suited for."  
  
I feel the old juices start flowing again. Once again I will be doing the work of a real soldier. I open the file under my arm and see a picture of a silver haired man, wearing tuxedo with a microphone.  
  
"This is Vic Fontaine, he's a lounge singer and entertainer in the Sea World Odyssea theater. He is our main source of intelligence on the Heartless operating in the area. Now the Resistance in that area have recently learned that Vic Fontaine was arrested by Maleficent's Secret Police last night. Vic Fontaine recently came upon some information that is evidently of great importance, but he never got the chance to deliver it." Hosgrove begins, "Lieutenant Schonke will be briefing you on more details and objectives for this operation. Just one warning, lieutenant, if you are compromised in any way you're on your own."  
  
"Yes sir." I reply.  
  
"Dismissed." Hosgrove says.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Diane is waiting for me in the drawing room, the same file carried under one arm. "Good morning Rusty. Sorry again you didn't have time to really settle in."  
  
"It's alright." I reply. Hell, anytime and place where I'm close to Diane I can classify as Heaven. But I don't say it.  
  
"Anyway, for the mission, your first objective is to rendezvous with the local resistance forces. Your contact will be singing the phrase, 'She got the way to move me, Cherry.' That's your first objective. Second is to break into Vic Fontaine's suite at the Delphi Hotel and destroy his communication equipment and code books. I cannot stress this enough, they have to be destroyed otherwise. Third, in any way possible rescue Vic Fontaine and get him back here. You have five days to complete the mission. An aircraft from RAF No. 36 Squadron will be on hand to retrieve you. You're inserting via a trawler. Draw weapons and civilian clothing from supply." Diane says.  
  
Diane walks with me out back to the armory, a small stone outbuilding that fell into disuse sometime in the decades this manor had been around. We refurbished it and stocked it with every manner of weapon. The MP guarding the entrance salutes us as we show him our ID cards and lets us in.  
  
It's a tough choice between a single shot, silenced .22 caliber pistol intended for covert assassinations and a Browning HP 9mm, a thirteen shot single action automatic pistol. With the mission profile Diane and I went over I might need a silenced weapon, particularly to kill Vic's guards when I get to rescuing him. But there's a real possibility I might have to shoot my way out of a particular problem. I take the Browning and two spare clips. I'd sooner have firepower over stealth right about now.  
  
I load the three magazines up and we walk back into the mansion for my disguise, in this case a set of nondescript civilian clothes, replacing my fatigues and sweater. After I get dressed I tuck the pistol into the waistband of my trousers and head into a jeep that's taking me to the airfield. As I get into the jeep, Diane smiles at me and says a quiet, 'Good luck.'  
  
"I'll be back before you know it." I reply, casually, and calmly in a way that no way mirrors what I feel inside. My heart's pounding like a hammer inside my chest, the way it always does when I'm ready to slip behind enemy lines. This time it's different. There isn't a jeep patrol, a Long Range Desert Group, or even fellow soldiers to back me up. It's just me and my wits. In the SAS we are trained to operate on our own if need be, but it's not something we relish doing. Once on my own behind enemy lines was bad enough.  
  
I take a last glance at Diane as we drive away from the estate, the only woman to have ever cut through any defenses I might have built around it. You might ask how long I have had these feelings for her. Years and long enough I'd reply.  
  
She'd been a part of my life in my childhood, which wasn't the best in the world. You see, I'm an orphan. I was raised by a woman named Lawanda Dumore, a banker who kept her age well and was seductive and beautiful but cruel and cold hearted. She had been through six husbands in her life. Of the three foster children in the household, I was the one she blamed for everything, she often belittled me at every turn, saying I'd never amount to anything. I had to toughen up at an early age to leave that household with my sanity intact. Diane was one of the few bright stars of those years under my roof in the Dumore household.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Diane's really grown into a fine young woman." Lowanda said, "She's gonna really be something someday. An honor student, a great softball player, the detachment commander of her NJROTC unit, only seventeen and she's achieved that much already. Why she chooses to be a friend of someone like you is beyond me."  
  
She speaks to me like I'm some kind of bum. I'm only seventeen and I've so far achieved a 3.89 GPA (not comparable to Diane's being valedictorian, obviously), I'm a member of the school rugby team, and I'm soon destined to go to the university somewhere and leave this mad place.  
  
"Oh well, she'll outgrow friendship with you eventually when she comes to her senses." Lowanda says, "Once she sees what a worthless child you are."  
  
"I'm not worthless." I reply.  
  
"Don't talk to your mother that way." Lowanda replies.  
  
"Mother? Hah! You've been no mother of mine!" I reply.  
  
"If you honestly think Diane will give you the love you don't deserve your sadly mistaken." Lowanda replies, her voice fading as I walk out of the house.  
  
Bollocks. Diane's been my best friend since I first came here four years ago. She's always been willing to be kind and compassionate to me, even though I was the shy outsider. I had no idea about the six kinds of hell I was about to encounter in the hours following that moment.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The vibration of the single engine Lysander observation aircraft jars me awake. "Puckett, we're over border. We're coming in for a landing."  
  
Aside from the lights of the nearby Sea World I see only the dark surrounding swamps. I see one of the many open fields with several small lights clustered in a cross around it. That is the signal to the pilots of 36 Sqn RAF that it's a landing sight to deliver secret agents into enemy territory.  
  
The plane lands on the field and I jump out. No sooner than my feet hit the ground, the pilot's taking off again towards Britannica, leaving me on my own. Now it is up to me to make contact with the Resistance on this world. My mission behind enemy lines has begun and my memories of my childhood are pushed from my conscious.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	2. Mission 1: Operation Songbird, Part 1

Mission 1: Operation Songbird, Part 1  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. The Deep Space Nine character of Vic Fontaine isn't mine. If you'd like, suggest other worlds that our hero (Rusty) could visit in his missions. Wayne Lefessier, J.D. McNugent, and Darren Silverman are a tribute to one of my favorite movies, Saving Silverman.  
  
Story so far: SAS officer Rusty Puckett is recruited to help with a spy organization called the OSS (Office of Strategic Services). When he reports to HQ he meets Diane Schonke, a woman he's loved since he knew her. Rusty is sent on a mission to rescue lounge singer and anti-Heartless informant Vic Fontaine from the clutches of the local villain, Cruella DeVille.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2100 (9 P.M., military time), the aviator's chronometer on my wrist says. Perfect time to scout Mr. Fontaine's flat in the Delphi Hotel. From the map that I procured before heading over here I know it lies about due south of my position currently.  
  
With the tiny Silva compass in my pocket and some starlight navigation I picked up in Egypt I make my way over there. When I reach the hotel I'm almost glad I decided to pack the Browning, because I see a patrol of a half dozen Soldier Heartless walk by the front of the place. I take another close look inside and see still more Heartless inside it, going through what has to be Vic's suite.  
  
There's no way in hell I'll be able to silently infiltrate tonight, but I'll go do a few hours of CTR (Close Target Reconnaissance) to try and determine the vigilance of the guards, state of readiness and the like. But first I have to make contact with the Resistance before I attempt my break in. As I'm watching the place I see two guys, one tall and skinny, the other short and fat.  
  
"Hey Jasper, do you think the boss will let us keep the stuff we took out of Fontaine's suite?"  
  
"What she doesn't know won't hurt us." Jasper replied to the shorter guy, Horace, "Besides she did say we could keep a certain percentage of what we find but that the encryption stuff was to go straight to her along with any expensive furs and jewelry Fontaine might keep around. Anything else for us is fair game."  
  
"Sweet. A lounge lizard like Vic Fontaine's bound to have some high quality junk lying around." Horace replied.  
  
These guys are so close that I can smell the cheap six pence cigar that Jasper was smoking. They proceed into Fontaine's flat and I know there's no way in hell I can infiltrate the place. Well its best I go find a place to sleep before I go meet my contacts. I know that they'll be in Sea World tomorrow and the code phrase Diane gave me will be used to contact me.  
  
I have some false currency and a small travel bag with a newspaper and a book, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne. That's the sign that my contacts know who I am. Newspapers are good for CTR reconnaissance. It's perfectly plausible for an observer to appear to be tucked into a newspaper in a crowded setting and just peer over the paper and keep an eye on a mark. I also have a false ID under the pseudonym of Raymond Payton. I'm holding on to that after the mission, you never know when these things come might in handy.  
  
"Mr. Payton. You're room is room 238." The receptionist says.  
  
"Thank you ma'am." I reply, faking a yawn, "Well I'd best get to bed, if I hope to beat the tourist crowd in the morning."  
  
I get into my room. It's a basic affair, one bed, a radio and a television set. I take my shoes and socks off and take the Browning off of my belt. It already has a round chambered and the safety catch on to prevent accidentally firing the weapon. But if I have an uninvited guest in the middle of the night they will have an unexpected surprise in the form of some 9mm rounds. I am a light sleeper after all.  
  
I've rigged the only two entrances with simple but effective devices. The chair propped against the doorknob will mean extra effort, equaling noise liable to wake me. The window, I've rigged with the noisy metal waste bin that moves whenever someone moves it even a centimeter. I've also noticed the fire escape is squeaky and locked the window. I've also moved the bed away from the window, so a sniper doesn't have a clear shot at me. Call me paranoid but it pays to be over cautious rather than under cautious.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Rusty, have you met Chris Powers, my boyfriend?" Diane asks.  
  
"No, can't say that I haven't." I reply.  
  
Moments after I left Lawanda's house, senior year of high school, I went over to Diane's house, ostensibly to discuss physics. I had a Valentine's day card and three long stemmed red roses in my knapsack for her.  
  
"Do you need any more help?" I ask, hiding the shock and trauma within. It is when I make it outside to Diane's house that I feel the pain.  
  
"Not really. Thank you for stopping by Rusty." Diane replies, smiling, "I really appreciated you coming by to help."  
  
"You know me, always glad to help a friend." I reply, as I grab my coat and head downstairs for the door.  
  
"Rusty, are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?" Diane asks.  
  
"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I reply.  
  
"Rusty it's raining out there." Diane replies.  
  
"In Britain we call this beach weather." I reply nonchalantly.  
  
Numb with pain I walk on through the driving rain, I stop at a footbridge in the park. It was here where I first met Diane, the start of our Freshman year of high school. I look into the pond, briefly considering hurling myself in and allowing myself to be swallowed by the depths. It is a seductive call, alluring as that of a Siren, the ancient monsters whose singing often lured sailors to their deaths.  
  
I remove the rose and card from my bag and with a sad look at the night skies, lit up briefly by the actinic flashes of lightning, throw them into the pond and walk away as the rain soaks through my clothing on the long walk back to my home. No, scratch that, Lawanda's house isn't home for me any more than the orphanage was. I am Rusty Puckett, and if I am to be without a home, than bereft I am. I've not known love and affection since I was ten years old.  
  
Diane's friendship with me awoke the dying embers of that memory. Despite the constant putdowns Lawanda threw my way, Diane's friendship healed the suffering within. I know now that I am without love or friendship or affection.  
  
"Fine!" I declare to the storming skies, half choked sobs and tears of angst melding with the rain going down my face and throat, "If that's how you wish to treat me, then that's how you chose to treat me!"  
  
As I declare this, it is almost as if some of the dark clouds form a face with glowing yellow eyes, with long black flowing locks and a beard. And as I stare back into it's face with my thousand yard stare I see it's features contort with laughter as a giant black hand reaches towards me.  
  
No matter how I run, the hand pursues me. I run inside Lawanda's house, the last place I would ever choose to be, and the hand catches up to me as I pull at the locked door. I must've dropped my key in my mad dash down the road. The creature open's its maw and throws me into its gaping maw and I fall endlessly into darkness...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I sit bolt upright in bed, the Browning in my right hand. It was just a dream, for the most part. It was the memory that drove me back to Britannica, into the Army, and finally the SAS. Aside from the strange face and hand, and that whole chase, that's how it all happened. It's a metaphor I suppose, about how I spiraled into darkness after Diane shared her good news with me. I check my alarm clock, 0700 (7 A.M. for civilians), the early crowds should be forming up in two hours.  
  
I'm not really in the mood to go back to bed, so I'll just stick to scouting around. I get dressed, pack my small kit bag, slinging it over one shoulder, and make sure my shirt tail conceals the fact that I've got the Browning and two spare clips concealed on me. I watch as two Heartless walk down the corridors, staring up at me with their glowing yellow eyes. It serves to drive home to me the fact that I am alone in entirely hostile territory. Though they are instructed not to harm guests in the hotel unless they step out of line, I'm still tempted to gun them down where they stand. I keep my cool and head down for the continental breakfast.  
  
It's another standard practice for frontlines soldiers. If you're not on duty either eat or sleep because you'll never know when or if you'll be able to do so again. A table in the room provides the perfect OP (observation post) for Vic Fontaine's suite. I see Jasper and Horace emerge as I appear, without much need to act, to be hungrily devouring my breakfast. They're carrying bags with expensive cigars, a radio, and several records of Vic's greatest hits and a couple books.  
  
I notice there are two fellows in long, black leather trench coats and black clothes bearing the Heartless emblem on their shoulders and a third in civvies. Maleficent's Secret Police, recruited from local villains and armed by weapons produced by the resources stolen from conquered worlds; ruthlessly help the Heartless keep control of worlds they occupy. They're heading straight into Vic Fontaine's suite. Between the patrols, the three policemen and Jasper and Horace I'm not about to go in their guns blazing, it's tantamount to suicide. No, I'll keep watch on the place, maybe get help from the Resistance and then break in and destroy what I'm supposed to destroy.  
  
If anything I know Vic Fontaine's in the hand of the head villain of this world, Cruella DeVille. After she helped Maleficent and the Heartless take over her world, she migrated to Sea World to help in the Heartless takeover of that world. I spend the rest of the time before I catch the shuttle bus to Sea World reconnoitering the hotel for possible ways to break in unobserved into Fontaine's suite.  
  
A little under an hour and a half later I've found a possible way to sneak into Fontaine's suite, first I'll have to go don a disguise, making sure, as always the Browning is close by. But first I'd best make contact with the Resistance.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Tell me, Mr. Fontaine, what do you know?" Cruella deVille said, tapping the long cigarette holder against the lounge singer's arm.  
  
"I know about love, life, and women..." Vic Fontaine replied. He was a handsome, older fellow with silver hair, normally combed slicked back was disheveled. His tuxedo was torn in a few places, a couple buttons were missing and his bow tie was gone.  
  
"Wrong answer Mr. Fontaine..." Cruella replied, as Jasper struck Vic across the face, splitting his lip.  
  
"Listen pallie, I told you all I know." Vic replied, "Where do you want me to begin?"  
  
"Well, 'pallie'," Jasper began, "I suggest you begin with telling us about your involvement with the Allies..."  
  
"What?" Vic said, "Listen, I'm just a lounge singer. I sing songs and tell jokes for a living, I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Well, since you seem to be uncooperative at this moment, maybe some incentives are in order..." Cruella threatened Vic.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I head for a known Dead Letter Box (DLB), underneath a display in the Shark Encounter area near the barracuda tank. I got paged ostensibly for a lost wallet in the assay office. The clerk gave me a sealed envelope and I opened it up. It contained the words Striped Fish, DLB.  
  
Dead letter boxes are any place where an agent can hide messages to another agent. I head for the Shark Encounter and stand in front of the barracuda tank. I feel underneath the display and find a piece of paper.  
  
It's a torn piece of a map, a Sea World guide map that points to the Odyssea Theater. It says, 'wink twice if you like what you see' written on it. Sadly the Shark Encounter has one only exit I can use without attracting unwanted attention. So I've got to go through the entire ride. I walk through the display of the shark tank and I swear I see a human foot in the water of the tank.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Well Mr. Fontaine," Cruella said, "Next time it will be your entire body that winds up in this tank if you don't tell me where your communication set and codebooks are."  
  
Jasper and Horace had been holding Vic Fontaine over the shark tank, his shoes and socks removed. The pair dunked Vic's feet into the tank, allowing him to feel the sand paper skin of the sharks rubbing against them. Vic tried to scream through the rag stuffed in his mouth that was tied in place by another rag.  
  
"Take him away. If he doesn't talk by tomorrow night, the sharks will have a little variety in their diet." Cruella replied.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Odyssea Theater, an acrobatic display, a musical show, and the like all with an undersea theme, and that's where I'm currently waiting in line while a trio of boardwalk performers called Diamonds in the Rough perform for us.  
  
"She got the way to move me, Cherry." They sing. They consist of brown haired young man, skinny but not in a marathon runner's way, a fellow with longish sandy blonde hair and mustache, and a fat guy with long reddish brown hair. They're wearing shirts that glisten silver, blue, and red for the skinny guy, the mustachioed one, and the fat guy respectively.  
  
I wink twice, noticeably. The silver shirted fellow winks back at me and as I pass them in the line I toss them a couple dollar bills. They're warming up for their next song and as the silver shirted fellow goes over ostensibly to adjust the sign that says Tips that's propping a guitar case open. As he does so he subtly hands me a note.  
  
I slide both hands into my pocket, every bit the bored tourist waiting for the show to start. I sit down on a planter and pull out my copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The three singers already know that they've given their messages to the right guy because one of the coded messages Diane sent before I headed out was simply '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.'  
  
I read their message that says, simply, 'Mango Joe's, 1300.' My watch reads 1030 right now so I've got two and a half hours before I'm due to show up. So I figure I might as well enjoy the show, and an amazing spectacle it is. I watch stunts that would put the best trapeze artists of Cirque de Soleil to shame. I laugh at some comedy ocean themed acts, and can almost pretend I'm a tourist. But the back corner of my mind realizes that I've got a mission to execute. What would make this already spectacular show wonderful would be to see this world freed from the Heartless and the woman I love curled up at my side watching it with me, enjoying it of her own accord.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Mango Joe's Café is a small place, with several outside tables. I order a steak with French fries and coleslaw and sit down at an outdoor table. The three lads I'd seen earlier performing are now in regular clothes and head over to the table.  
  
"Jules Verne." The first one says, he was the brown haired bloke I called Silver. Blue was the mustachioed bloke, and Red was the fat bloke, "Great author."  
  
"This is true. Come, sit down if you'd like to talk..." I say.  
  
"Hey guys, what do you want to order?" Silver says.  
  
"I'll take a burger, fries and a coke." Blue says.  
  
"I'll take a burger, with cheese, large fries, onion rings, cole slaw and a coke..." Red replies.  
  
"Wayne Lefessier." Blue says.  
  
"J.D. McNugent." Red replies, "The other guy's our best pal, Darren Silverman."  
  
"Raymond Payton." I reply, naturally. I rehearsed in my room that whenever I give a name it will be Raymond Payton instead of my real one, Rusty Puckett.  
  
"Well Ray," Wayne says, "We can't really talk much hear, but I can tell you Vic was on to something big when he disappeared. Meet us before closing time, at nine forty five."  
  
"Wait, Wayne, didn't we agree on a quarter to ten." J.D. says.  
  
Wayne slaps his forehead and says, "J.D. we agreed on a quarter to ten, aka nine forty five."  
  
Meal finishes and with nothing else to do for the rest of the day I perform some reconnaissance around the area. I find good evasion routes; note the location of security offices and Heartless patrols. Because I know I'm gonna lift Vic Fontaine out of here ASAP, I will have to go through this area. I notice several tan uniformed men, carrying holstered pistols at their sides. They have the Sea World logo on their sleeves and blue ball caps that read Security on them.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
2145. As I walk out of the park I run into J.D., Wayne, and Darren. They silently motion me over and we all head for the Delphi Hotel, where I'm currently staying. As soon as we get inside the room I lock the door.  
  
"What was Vic on to?" I ask.  
  
"We don't know, exactly." Wayne replies, "But we know it's something big, Maleficent has something planned, something needing seaborne animals."  
  
"Yeah, we've seen fish and sharks, and even dolphins get taken from the park for some odd reason." Wayne replies, "So what's your angle?"  
  
"I'm here to rescue Vic Fontaine." I reply, "He's the top Allied informant here. How do you think Allied intelligence knows were the targets are without hitting your park or the tourist areas?"  
  
"I could use some help," I continue, "I have to destroy Vic's encryption equipment and codebooks, otherwise our entire communication systems with Resistance forces on many other worlds could be compromised."  
  
"We'll help you." Darren says, "But we'll need a favor from you in return. In the Assay Office is a cache of weapons the Allies sent to our Resistance forces here. Maleficent's forces intercepted the shipment, though, and our last couple attempts to get it back have resulted in two captured and three dead."  
  
I realize I'm gonna have to make a deal here if I'm to carry out my operation, "Right. And if I do so, will you help me rescue Vic Fontaine?"  
  
"We'll do it, pallie." Wayne replies.  
  
"Right," I reply, "This is what we'll do..."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Next: Our heroes break and enter and liberate the weapons cache...  
  
TBC (I'll get to the action/adventure in the next chapter.) 


	3. Mission 1: Operation Songbird, Part 2

Mission 1: Operation Songbird  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before...I don't own the Mummy films either.  
  
Summary: Rusty made contact with Wayne, JD, and Darren, a trio of performers at Sea World who are working for the Resistance. They agree to aid him in his mission in return for helping them liberate arms from their weapons cache that was taken recently by Maleficent's forces.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I sift through Vic Fontaine's suite, wondering where a lounge singer slash informant would hide his encryption equipment or code books. The most obvious places have already been searched thoroughly. Bed sheets, clothes, pictures, and books have all ended up on the floor. I see a lot of the paintings and framed objects on Vic's wall have been thrown to the ground. There is a plaque though that remains standing for some strange reason.  
  
I attempt to move the plaque, but it is stuck fast to the wall. I'm certain Maleficent's forces know what they seek is behind this frame. I find a screwdriver in the mess and insert it behind the painting. Prying with all my strength I've pulled it loose, finding only a section of wall.  
  
"Damn it." I curse under my breath, but there's something unusual about the wooden paneling, like it's newer than the rest of the wall. I tap the wood, it's hollow. I smile as I pry it open and find the encryption device and codebooks. I stuff them into my travel bag and run out.  
  
Wayne, Darren and JD are waiting outside, "Did you get it."  
  
"Seemed easy enough." Darren says, "It seems like you do this for a living."  
  
"Not really, but we do a lot of behind the lines work." I reply.  
  
"The SAS?" Wayne asks. At my questioning glance he adds, "We hear stories about you guys from our security guys. They say you're absolutely fearless, tough as nails bad asses."  
  
"Yes." I reply. We pile into Wayne's van, inwardly I'm getting the feeling that this part was too easy that the other shoe's gonna drop. I felt this part of the op was too easy if anything.  
  
"So what about those security men, how loyal are they to Maleficent? How many are there?" I ask.  
  
"Oh you mean the Espos." Wayne replies, "They were our original security force before the Heartless came. To try to earn our good will, Cruella reinstated them, but made them swear loyalty to Maleficent."  
  
"The guys who refused were either executed or became Resistance fighters." JD replies.  
  
"How are we getting inside?" I ask.  
  
"We thought about that." Darren began, "JD forgets stuff in the park all the time and it usually winds up in the lost and found area. It's also right in the same building as the assay office."  
  
The guard lets us through without much hassle, as I've been passed off as a new member of Diamonds in the Rough. It's at the office itself where the trouble begins. Wayne's attacking the lock with a screw driver when a Shadow Heartless spots us.  
  
I've no choice but to draw my weapon. It's about now where I wish I'd brought along a silenced pistol as I squeezed the trigger, firing two rounds into the Heartless' chest. It stands shakily so I fire two more into its head for good measure.  
  
"I got it!" Wayne says, inside the office is a wide assortment of weapons ranging from American M1 Garands and Thompson sub machineguns to British Sten guns, and an assortment of hand grenades. I pick up a Sten gun and some combat webbing to hold spare magazines. I've just rigged up my kit and helped Wayne and JD to do the same when a Soldier Heartless runs into the building.  
  
Darren takes him out with his M1 Garand. We've just compromised our operation, so we carry all the weapons and ammo out of there, and run outside where we are illuminated by spotlights.  
  
"Damn it!" I shout and dive out of the way, firing the Sten in bursts as I run. The weapon may look like a section of old pipe with a magazine sticking out, but it's an effective weapon. Wayne, JD, and Darren have run one way, and I've run the other. I hear the sounds of more gunfire and a van driving off.  
  
I'd best go deeper into the park before I'm pinpointed and destroyed. I reload magazines as I run, jamming a fresh clip in as a hail of gunfire follows my movements. The Espos with the Heartless evidently aren't friendly. As I take cover in a copse of trees I see a hole in the front gate where a van drove through and where I presume JD, Wayne, and Darren escaped. I'm sure they've just gone in for the weapons, leaving me in the lurch. So now I've got to rescue Vic Fontaine, somehow.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
London: Diane Schonke picked up her purse as she walked out of the mansion, towards a young man waiting in the foyer. He wore the uniform of a US Navy lieutenant as well. "Chris!" Diane said, excitedly and hugged him.  
  
"It was worth the wait." Chris replied, smiling, as he held his girlfriend in his arms. It was a running joke of his about how Diane was such a perfectionist, always wanting to look neat and attractive at all times.  
  
Diane signed out on the liberty log, about to start her three day pass, spending that time with Chris at a seaside town in Blackpool, Britannica's major seaside resort community. Taking Diane at his side, Chris walked out of the foyer with her. Both of them saluted the duty officer before leaving.  
  
The duty officer, manning the foyer, was Flight Sergeant Dora May, Women's Auxiliary Air Corps. Her partner on the watch was their bald master forger, Flight Lieutenant Colin Blythe, Royal Air Force.  
  
"Looks like Diane's going to enjoy that three day pass she got." Dora commented.  
  
"She's been excited about the USS Sea Hawk docking in Liverpool for weeks." Blythe replied, "Now I know why."  
  
"Poor Rusty." Dora replied.  
  
"Excuse me." Blythe began, straightening the tie of his RAF service blue uniform.  
  
"Lieutenant Puckett's in love with Lieutenant Schonke." Dora replied.  
  
"You're such a romantic, Sergeant May." Blythe remarked, "He's just a good friend of hers."  
  
"A woman can tell. Just look into his eyes when he talks to her, it's like the gleam with unshed tears." Dora replied.  
  
"I do recall he seemed a bit upset about Lieutenant Schonke's weekend plans at dinner a few nights ago." Blythe replied, smiling, his watery blue eyes lighting up in that enigmatic way of his.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I've decided I'm going to cut through the perimeter fence at the edge of the compound and make my way out. The Heartless are prowling over this park in large numbers. It's a good thing I've stocked up on ammunition.  
  
"Halt!" I hear the shout from one of Maleficent's Secret Police. I turn and give him a five round burst of 9mm rounds and run like hell towards the Penguin Encounter, a band of Heartless in hot pursuit. I turn and fire more short bursts of fire to conserve ammo, killing two of them in the process. They are intent on catching me as I run through the attraction, gunfire spooking several penguins as I kill several charging Heartless. I hide in a crevice as the Heartless run past, thinking I'm heading for the exit. I kick down an emergency exit door and race back out into the night.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
JD, Wayne, and Darren hadn't abandoned Rusty, though the SAS officer didn't know it. Instead they had gone to a nearby Resistance stronghold. With the entire cache of arms, consisting of two 1903 Springfield rifles, two M1 Garands, a box of hand grenades, two Sten and two Thompson guns packed safely away in Wayne's van, the trio went to go find as many Resistance fighters they could find and rallied them to go launch guerilla strikes on the Heartless forces now swarming through Sea World.  
  
"Well boys." Coach said, he was an older fellow, his body still built like he was in his twenties, his face forty, and his eyes fifty. His short, salt and pepper hair was cut in the manner of a US Marine, "Let's not let the Allies down, they may be coming back here someday. Let's go get our guy..."  
  
About forty Resistance fighters armed with an assortment of weapons, burst from their hideout and dispersed in varying routes toward Sea World, on their way to help a lone SAS operative stranded behind enemy lines.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Lying low in a small planter, the best cover I can find. I make sure both my Browning and Sten are loaded with full magazines. I've resolved I'm gonna survive, lie low for a while, and then break Fontaine out of prison before they execute him.  
  
The sarcastic part of my brain asks, 'Well, shit, just how are you gonna do it Puckett? Go in with guns blazing? You're a one man SAS hit squad.' Well no kidding, I am an SAS officer with plenty of behind the lines experience. Giving up is simply not something I even think of.  
  
If I have to I will. I'll figure something out, I've got a mission, I've got an enemy, execute them both. As they say in the Regiment, Who Dares Wins. That is our motto, our creed, through daring and audacity as well as speed and aggression we were responsible for preventing the Heartless from aiding Imhotep's conquest of Egypt and the maintenance of a British presence there.  
  
It's interesting. Over the past hour I've been hearing gunfire and the unmistakable sound of firefights going on throughout various parts of the park. I see a group of Heartless dragging a female prisoner towards the Assay office near the park gate, which has become a command post of sorts for efforts of search through the park.  
  
I burst from hiding, gunning down the trio of Soldier Heartless leading the patrol, I try to fire on the two holding the girl but my Sten jammed. Quickly I draw my Browning and fire two shots, killing each Shadow Heartless holding the prisoner.  
  
"Are you alright?" I ask the girl. She can't be more than nineteen or twenty.  
  
"I'm fine..." she says, shaken, but physically alright, "You're the Allied soldier that was sent to help us?"  
  
"Yes." I reply.  
  
She leads me back to where her partner was killed by the Heartless and picks up her pistol which she left near the Key West area and his Schmeisser MP 40 sub machinegun and magazines. This girl knows her trade, she knows to shed tears over dead buddies later, and that she's got a job to do.  
  
"Coach is looking for you." She replies, "Says a British soldier was marooned in hostile territory. That he is SAS."  
  
I nod, "And you are?"  
  
"Layla Marin."  
  
"Rusty Puckett."  
  
Layla leads me through the park; she knows where the rendezvous points and the like are better than I do. I grab her shoulder and stop us behind the walls of the Wild Arctic area. I hear a patrol of Heartless moving around the area and want to try and avoid a fight even if there are two of us now.  
  
As we move away, silently, I can feel my heart hammering into my ears. Every sound I make, however small seems magnified ten fold. I see Layla looks rather frightened, but determined, to carry out her mission. As we move her foot brushes against a loose cobblestone and the resulting noise alerts the Heartless. I turn and fire bursts of fire from my Sten at them, practically tearing one of the Heartless into ribbons with my first burst of gunfire.  
  
Layla pops up from cover, firing bursts of fire from her MP40, killing two more Heartless. She's further behind me, having the good sense to grab cover before opening fire. She's covering for me and staying low, I run as fast as I can, switching magazines before I make it to the planter she's hiding behind. Layla goes running towards the Happy Harbor area, reloading magazines as I cover for her, shooting towards the Heartless in short, controlled bursts of gunfire. As soon as I hear Layla open up I run towards her position.  
  
As we make it inside Happy Harbor, we see more Resistance fighters. "Coach Norm, I've got him." Layla begins.  
  
"Good job." The man she calls, 'Coach' obviously the cell leader, replies, "Rusty Puckett, 1 SAS, I presume?  
  
"Yes." I reply.  
  
"We can't stay long here." Coach says, "There's too many Heartless. But I've got some sweet news for you, Vic Fontaine's here in the park."  
  
"Where is he?" I reply.  
  
"The Shark Encounter." Wayne answers, "Cruella likes coming up with creative ways to get rid of people she doesn't like. If an execution is scheduled, she won't feed the sharks for a week or so, and the sharks haven't been fed since last Tuesday."  
  
"We've gotta get to him then. McNugent, Nefessier, Silverman, Marin, I'm gonna need you for this one, the rest of you, get out of here, but stay nearby with your weapons, things could be getting rough." Coach says.  
  
The fighters other than the four he chose, break up into groups but Coach stops one man, carrying a Springfield '03 sniper rifle. "Rakes, switch of with Marin."  
  
The two switch weapons and he signals Silverman over to us. "Silverman, Marin, I want you two taking sniper posts. Marin you take the roof of Odyssea, Silverman, take the Pirate Island crow's nest. Start picking off any Heartless you guys see near Shark Encounter."  
  
Darren's carrying a telescope sighted Enfield No. 4T rifle now, the standard issue British sniper rifle now. Despite popular beliefs, women can make good sharpshooters. They have an inherently lower heart rate then men, meaning they can hold rifles steadier then men. They are cold hearted, when they want to be. They don't show remorse when they do kill. And men have a tendency to underestimate them.  
  
Coach manages to get the two snipers in place while JD, I, and Wayne hide in a small stand of trees near the entrance. Regardless of whether the snipers are ready we're going in but not through the service entrance where the feeders go through to feed the sharks. That's the first place Cruella will expect infiltration. No, we're going with the frontal assault. Directly through the front entrance and through an air vent I saw going in before the main shark tank.  
  
I hear two single rifle shots, one a half second after the other. Our snipers have just picked off a Heartless a piece. Right about now the four of us run forward, armed with sub machineguns and pistols for good close in battle. Both Coach and I pick off a Soldier Heartless a piece with three round bursts of 9mm bullets. JD and Wayne go through next, armed with Thompson guns. We go through the corridors, killing occasional Heartless we encounter. JD boosts first Coach then me into the vent. He and Wayne are guarding our rear because we're lifting Vic Fontaine out of here after killing his captors in a hail of bullets.  
  
We're just above the shark tank and I can see three men, all large, bulky fellows wearing black executioner's masks. Cruella, Jasper and Horace don't seem to be among them. This is a sign that execution wasn't really planned for today. Because Cruella and the others aren't in presence that's a clear indication that this is a hasty execution, obviously Cruella and her two gang members are aware that we were planning to lift Vic Fontaine from their clutches.  
  
They're wrapping chains around Vic Fontaine's torso and wrists. His legs have chains and about another two hundred pounds of weight around his ankles. They're about to cast him into the tank and a third bloke is putting what can only be a raw, bloody chunk of meat into Vic's arms.  
  
"Have a nice swim, Fontaine..." one of the men says.  
  
"Ready..." Coach says, "Aim...Fire."  
  
At the instant the executioner shoves Vic into the tank he is hit by a dozen .45 caliber rounds from Coach's Tommy gun. I open up with my Sten and kill the second executioner and the third attempts to run. He doesn't get more than three steps before he dances as though electrocuted as a volley of 9mm and .45 caliber bullets from the Thompson and the Sten rip through his body. I put down my Browning and Sten, remove my web gear and outer jacket and dive into the shark tank after Vic Fontaine. Coach casts in a line with a hook on the end after me and I grab a hold of it as I go into the depths.  
  
I swim downward towards the cloud of blood hoping I'm not too late. I see bubbles come up as Vic Fontaine struggles with futile effort against his chains. I attach the hook to the chains around his torso and tug on the line. I feel Coach pulling the hand cranked winch the line is attached too just as a torpedo-like shape glides towards us.  
  
The shark is a creature whose basic shape has been unchanged for millions of years. It has survived on the planet since the Age of the Dinosaurs. I hope to survive the fifteen seconds until Coach can get us to the surface. I strike the first shark in the nose, a sensitive spot, and it swims off deterred momentarily. I feel the burn in my lungs, as the need for oxygen is making itself known. The shark has no such burn; it's a native to the water unlike Vic and myself. I see Vic's jaws opening and closing rapidly; he's got water in his lungs, its urgent to get him to the surface immediately. I get underneath Vic and start kicking for the surface urgently as I feel the sharks swimming beneath me.  
  
I feel strong hands pulling Vic's weight to the surface and with the last of my strength haul myself out of the water. I'm coughing salt water out of my lungs onto the catwalk on my hands and knees. I see Coach doing CPR on Vic Fontaine until the latter coughs and sputter and gets up shakily. We remove the chains on his body with a pair of bolt cutters and disappear through the vent.  
  
As we make it outside of the gate I know we can't wait for the Lysander to fly in and rescue us. We have to get out on our own steam. But that's why I was selected for this mission. In the Regiment they teach us to be resourceful, and I remember from a couple weeks of flight training the basics on how to pilot an aircraft.  
  
"Coach, where's the nearest airfield?" I ask.  
  
"About three miles away. Why?" Coach asks.  
  
"I'm gonna lift a plane and get Vic out of here, we can't hole up for a day." I reply.  
  
"Count me in soldier. Good luck." Coach replies.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The airfield is silent, save for a couple of sentries. There's a two seat trainer that I, in theory, know how to fly. Layla and Darren have the place under cover from their rifles. Wayne and JD are planting explosives near a secondary fuel dump to engineer a distraction. As soon as Coach gives the go ahead Wayne and JD will detonate the explosives and Layla and Darren will kill the sentries nearest the plane.  
  
Coach flashes a signal with a tiny flashlight and suddenly an ear splitting bang echoes through the night sky. In quick succession two Shadow Heartless fall dead from Darren and Layla's shooting. The bang of the explosion effectively muffles the shots as I cut through the wire.  
  
"Good luck boys!" Coach shouts as I start the plane's engine and taxi down the runway.  
  
"You guys are really something else." Vic says as we take off, "Who are you?"  
  
"Rusty Puckett, 1 SAS." I reply.  
  
"Vic Fontaine. Pleased to meet you pallie. You know how to fly this thing?"  
  
"Yes." I reply.  
  
Within half an hour we are within sight of the white cliffs of Dover. As we fly by a stream of red tracer bullets streak by the cockpit. Wanker! It's the RAF. The fact that this plane has a big Heartless insignia on it is cause enough for their reaction. Sure enough, behind me is a pair of Spitfires that the radar controller on the Sussex coast, where we are flying must've vectored towards the intruder.  
  
"Does this thing have a radio?" I shout as tracers tear into the starboard wing.  
  
"You're asking me? I'm a lounge singer, not a pilot." Vic replies.  
  
The Spitfires, seeing we aren't taking any evasive action wag their wings at us. I return the gesture. As I do, one of them takes a position behind us, ready to blast us from the air should this 'hostile' do anything other than land at the airfield they designate. Twenty minutes later we're approaching to land.  
  
"Uh oh." I say.  
  
"What do you mean, 'uh oh'?" Vic asks, "I thought you said you could fly this thing."  
  
"Fly yes. Land no." I reply, "Hang on!"  
  
We pull off a rather nasty crash landing at Biggin Hill fighter station and climb shakily out of the plane which carved a rather nasty furrow into the dirt runway. "Any landing you walk away from is a good landing." I say.  
  
"Remind me never to fly with you again." Vic says as we are bundled off into a truck.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	4. Mission 2: Operation Janus, Part 1

Mission 2: Operation Janus  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. If anyone can guess, what was Janus the Roman god of?  
  
Story So Far: Rusty successfully saved Vic Fontaine from the Heartless in a daring and bold maneuver culminating with the theft of an airplane and a crash landing in British territory.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Mission accomplished, Puckett." Colonel Hosgrove says, four days after I'd rescued Vic Fontaine, "That information Vic was able to provide us was invaluable. Though I do wish you'd pulled that operation off with a little more discretion than you showed."  
  
"I'm not sure I follow, sir." I reply.  
  
"I do. Engaging in several gunfights, destroying a fuel dump, stealing an enemy airplane, then crashing it into a friendly airfield." Hosgrove replies, "Not very covert, but quite daring."  
  
"Entirely by accident, sir." I reply, "With regard to my actions, in my unit we always say, 'Who Dares Wins'."  
  
"I'm aware of the motto the SAS has adopted since its inception. Anyway, the data Vic stumbled onto is regarding a possible new type of Heartless, designed to operate underwater." Hosgrove replies, "Also he might have just penetrated, though very lightly, the Pipeline."  
  
The Pipeline Hosgrove refers to is the ratline where kidnapped victims, usually orphans or beggars that societies won't really miss, are smuggled along to Maleficent's secret experimental facilities to be transformed into various sorts of Heartless. Shadows are easy to produce on the spot, but other breeds take special processing and equipment and thus many facilities are open for the sinister purpose of creating various kinds of Heartless.  
  
"Anyway, be ready to receive a new mission at any time." Hosgrove replies.  
  
"Yes sir." I reply.  
  
"Dismissed." Hosgrove says. I do a perfect about turn and walk out of Hosgrove's office.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Vic Fontaine has set up a little sound stage with microphone and musical equipment at the behest of Sir Niles. Vic is now holding auditions for various personnel for his band. He beams at me and waves saying, "Interested in putting down the sword and taking up the lute?"  
  
"Not really. I enjoy music but can't play it for the life of me." I reply.  
  
Diane is drinking a cup of coffee at a nearby table and I slide into the open seat next to her, "Come here often?" I ask.  
  
"Oh yes, every day." Diane replies, smiling at me. It's that heart stopping smile of hers that could cause a traffic accident if misused.  
  
"So how was the weekend?" I ask, she knows mine was spent lifting Vic Fontaine out of a potentially hairy spot.  
  
"Chris' ship docked in Liverpool." Diane replies, smiling at me like a dark haired pixie, "He called before he came over here, and we spent a three day pass in Blackpool. You were right; it is one of Britannica's better seaside resorts."  
  
"I'm glad you enjoyed your weekend." I reply, "Well, I'd best get going."  
  
I manage to make it to the indoor gymnasium that is part of the estate's grounds, removing my outer shirt of my fatigues I put wraps and gloves on and start punching away at the bag. I've been working up a good sweat for at least five minutes when I hear a familiar voice.  
  
"Anyone I know?" Vic Fontaine asks.  
  
"Perhaps." I reply, giving the bag a couple jabs, a right cross and a particularly vicious left hook.  
  
"Who's the girl?" Vic asks.  
  
"You don't give up, do you mate?" I ask.  
  
"I've been known to be persistent." Vic replies.  
  
"So I gathered." I reply, "Her name's Diane, she's a close friend of mine."  
  
"I can see it now; you're crazy about the broad." Vic replies.  
  
"Perhaps." I reply, giving the bag another vicious combination of jabs and crosses.  
  
"I feel sorry for that bag." Vic replies, with a whistle, because he sees my fists land solid blows in quick succession. My undershirt is now soaked with sweat, my ID tags hanging out of it. More of the stuff is soaking my face and body.  
  
"Anyway, there's no perhaps about it pallie. You have feelings for her. Now what's stopping her from telling her how you feel?" Vic replies.  
  
"His name's Chris Osborne." I reply giving the bag a three punch combo of a jab, cross, and jab as I speak.  
  
"Boyfriend?" Vic Fontaine asks.  
  
"They've been together for ages." I reply, "About seven years to be precise."  
  
"I see, so how long have you..." Vic replies.  
  
"At least for that amount of time." I reply, "We grew up together and just about when I'd gone into high school, I started developing feelings for her."  
  
"Stay friends with the girl, because you never know, you might be the first person she goes to if something goes wrong with Chris." Vic said, "So that's why you were such a 'perfect soldier', when Diane met Chris you felt like you'd had nothing else to live for."  
  
"Rusty?" Diane's voice echoed, "Are you in here?"  
  
"I am." I reply, thanking God I'm being saved from this pesky lounge singer.  
  
"Colonel Hosgrove has an assignment for you." Diane replies.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Good afternoon, lieutenant. I see you've been taking advantage of the estate's athletic facilities." Hosgrove says, noticing I'm still slightly sweaty and flushed from my rounds at the bag.  
  
"Yes sir." I reply.  
  
"Well I'll get right to the point. Your mission, pure and simple is to kill a man." Hosgrove says, "After he helped the Heartless destroy his world, Claude Frollo has been one of the key members of Maleficent's Pipeline. All attempts to bring him to justice have failed, civilian authorities on the worlds he's been on either are too intimidated or if they do catch him cannot find any evidence to support their allegations. So the mission was entrusted to us. You're mission is to discretely kill Claude Frollo."  
  
I look at the folder handed to me by Hosgrove. Frollo's an intense older fellow with gray hair, a long nose, and a narrow face and frame. Every inch of him radiates tyrant. But I'm not here to judge his appearance; my mission is to assassinate this man. If the OSS (Office of Strategic Services) wants him dead, then they want him dead. What they need is a triggerman, and that's where 1st Lieutenant Russell George Puckett, 1 SAS, fits into this equation.  
  
"Wouldn't it make more sense to capture him alive, sir?" I ask, "I'm sure we could crack the Pipeline if we caught him."  
  
"We don't want Maleficent or her henchmen to realize Vic knows anything about their Pipeline." Hosgrove says, "I don't like this mission any more than you do Rusty, but if Command wants him dead, then we'd best carry the order out. This mission is Top Secret, if you are caught expect your very existence to be erased. The man known as 1st Lt. Russell George Puckett, His Majesty's SAS will never have existed. All records of your life will be destroyed; you'll barely be a memory."  
  
"But this is what you signed up for, Puckett, isn't it?" Hosgrove continues, "The thrill of the chase, for the danger, for the idea of taunting death?"  
  
"Yes sir." I reply.  
  
"Well, you know your mission, Lieutenant." Hosgrove says, "Lieutenant Schonke will brief you on the particulars and equipment needed for this operation. Take care that she learns nothing of what we said here for operational security. As far as she or anyone else knows your mission is reconnaissance, not assassination. The only people in the loop are you and I in this building in addition to one or two others at Allied Command."  
  
"Yes sir." I reply.  
  
"Dismissed." Hosgrove says. Again I execute a drill perfect about turn that would make my old Sergeant Major at Sandhurst proud.  
  
I enter the card room where Diane's waiting for me with a set of civilian attire on one arm and a file under the other. "Globetrotting are we?" Diane asks.  
  
"Yes." I reply dourly, trying to hide the nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach that this mission is arousing. Granted I've killed many times, but this seems particularly cold blooded, being appointed judge, jury, and executioner of one Claude Frollo.  
  
"Well, your area of operations is Traverse Town." Diane begins, "And your mission is to shadow Claude Frollo and report on his activities."  
  
Oh how innocent you are of my true mission, Diane. She continues, "He'll be attending an Opera in the Second District. Traverse Town, as you know, is a regular hotbed of enemy activity, and your best defense is remaining inconspicuous. Towards that end, we're issuing you with a Hi-Standard Suppressed Pistol. It's a .22 caliber weapon that sounds like a BB gun when fired, but it's a good deal more deadly."  
  
Sounds like the perfect weapon for a covert assassination mission. "To follow Frollo into the Opera there will be a dead letter box, located behind the mirror of the sink in the bathroom of Cid's Item Shop, in it will be a ticket and another set of forged papers complete with disguise accessories."  
  
When I enter Traverse Town I'll look like myself, but once I hit the DLB I will appear to be another person. A wig and false glasses can do wonders for altering one's appearance temporarily. The assassination of Sir Danvers Carey fifty years ago of the House of Lords was a classic example. When he watching a play in a London theater, a young man wearing thick glasses with red hair stabbed him between the ribs then escaped during intermission. Scotland Yard was on the hunt for a red haired youth with thick specs, but by the time anyone noticed Sir Carey was dead, the red haired, bespectacled youth became a brown haired youth minus the specs. The glasses and toupee were false.  
  
"You'll be flying in by Lysander this time again." Diane continues, "And we'll pull you out at 2200 (10 PM) tomorrow night. Details on your extraction package will be in the DLB in Cid's after 2100 (9 PM). He runs the safe house for Traverse Town, so there's no need for you to enter the Second or Third Districts."  
  
That certainly makes sense, because the Second and Third Districts are infested with Heartless and that means I'm going to have to engage or evade them.  
  
I go to the armory and draw out my weapon for this assignment, the Hi- Standard Suppressed Pistol. It's a small weapon, easily concealable if worn under a jacket. For added security I've kept it broken down in parts for when I enter Traverse Town, as Diane said, its stealth, not firepower that's gonna be my greatest asset. I've got a full magazine of ten rounds of .22 LR ammunition, but if things go right all I'm gonna need is one shot, no more. With this weapon hidden in my jacket I can sneak up behind Frollo in a darkened theater and fire a single round into his head. I know the .22 is seen as 'a BB gun with a bullet' in military circles, but a close range head shot is a definite fatality. If I need to fire more than one shot, then there's gonna be trouble, because that means I missed or failed to kill my quarry.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
An hour later I'm in the air, in a Lysander monoplane. But there's a difference. The aircraft is marked with a Britannica Air Mail logo and the pilot is wearing civilian attire. There isn't a single marking to place this aircraft as belonging to the RAF. The older model Lysanders are fairly common courier aircraft in Britannica and many other worlds, and the Lysander Mk III looks exactly like its older sisters, the only difference being she has a more powerful motor driving her propeller.  
  
As I land in Traverse Town I make my way to Cid's Item Shop. I see that the flower pot in the window is on the right side of the sill as I face it. That means its safe to enter. Were it centered it would be a signal to wait. And if it was on the left side it would mean to remain clear of it.  
  
The DLB is located in a false panel behind the mirror in Cid's bathroom. It contains a toupee, a pair of wire rimmed glasses, forged papers and a ticket to the Traverse Town Opera House. I find the package and make sure to store it safely in the small briefcase I'm carrying, looking for the world like a busy citizen coming home from work. In the briefcase, behind a false bottom are my weapon and ten rounds of ammunition, and the contents of the DLB. If my briefcase is searched all they will find are mundane inventory notes and personal papers of one Russell Pemberton.  
  
Tonight the order of business is a little close target reconnaissance of the First District, and a closer look at the Opera House for convenient bolt holes in case this op goes to hell. I walk around Traverse Town's first district, taking note of various back alleys, gates, and possible areas to hole up for the initial commotion of Frollo's assassination.  
  
I see the layout of the place puts my safe house right smack in the middle of the district. The theater is to the right as I face the Item Shop. I notice there is a back alley, with only two ways in or out. That won't do. Security forces will automatically expect an assassin to use such an exit.  
  
At the worst case scenario someone will discover Frollo is dead as soon as I've put the round through his head, so I'd best be prepared to make a quick exit out of the theater. There is a ventilation duct I notice that leads into an abandoned building that borders the Second District. If I have to, I'll use that. After all, what foolhardy assassin would try to escape into a known hotbed of Heartless activity?  
  
But in the best case, after I've killed Frollo, I will get up from my seat, calmly, ostensibly to use the toilet. Then once I've reached the toilet I will shed my disguise and the temporary identification I will use for the actual assassination, placing it into a pre-positioned DLB inside a supposedly broken toilet. Then afterward I will calmly exit the theater without speaking to anyone and go back into the First District.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Flight Lieutenant Colin Blythe walked into 'Casablanca' the name the soldiers at the mansion gave to the room Vic Fontaine used as his entertainment area. It was where Vic asked to meet him.  
  
"Colin, how are you?" Vic said.  
  
"I prefer to go by Blythe if you don't mind."  
  
"Makes you sound more distinguished. More power to you." Vic replied, "I need you to do something for me?"  
  
"What would that be?" Blythe replied.  
  
"I notice Lieutenant Schonke's been a bit stressed lately." Vic replied.  
  
"We've all been a tad overworked." Blythe began, "The Encryption department's had a lot of work lately."  
  
"I mean besides that." Vic said, "I know you're her boss..."  
  
"She's one of my best cryptographers. She cracks codes in half the time it takes a lot of the others to." Blythe replied, "She was part of the team that broke Imhotep's code in time to stop one of his major attacks in Egypt. The Desert Rats were able to rally and defeat the Heartless partially because of her work."  
  
"Major Darby's put a lot of stress on you guys lately." Vic mused, "She seems to be hit hardest."  
  
"Diane's a bit of a perfectionist. But Major Darby seems to have a hard time complimenting anyone." Blythe replied, "He yelled at her over something or other, and I saw it took all the composition she had not to yell back."  
  
"Remind me not to tell Rusty." Vic replied.  
  
"Oh, you seem to be subscribing to the theory Rusty's in love with her. I figure it's barracks nonsense." Blythe replied.  
  
"Barracks nonsense my foot, Rusty's crazy about her. All I can say is Major Darby's lucky he outranks Rusty otherwise he might just wind up being thrown through a window." Vic replied, "That's what I wanted to tell you, be sure that Diane doesn't work herself too hard."  
  
"I'll keep that it mind." Blythe replied, "Thank you Vic."  
  
"Your welcome, Blythe." Vic said, "Between you and me, I think Rusty should tell Diane how he feels about her. He's kept it a secret for too long."  
  
"How long?" Blythe asked.  
  
"Seven years." Vic replied.  
  
"Seven years! Good God!" Blythe replied, as he walked out of the room, towards the card room, across the foyer.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"You read my mind, sir." Diane replied, as Blythe offered her a cup of coffee.  
  
"I don't know how you Yanks can take coffee. Bloody chalk dust and water it is." Blythe replied.  
  
"It's an acquired taste." Diane replied.  
  
"Perhaps." Blythe replied, "But I'd prefer my Earl Grey any day of the week. You don't look so good."  
  
Diane had bags under her eyes, "I'll manage sir."  
  
"Bollocks." Blythe replied, "As your superior officer, I definitely believe you need rest."  
  
"I'm doing fine, sir." Diane replied.  
  
"Go to bed, lieutenant." Blythe replied, "I'll take over from here. If you persist in staying up late, you're headed straight for sick call first thing in the morning. You're overstressing yourself."  
  
"Its just that every message I decode could save lives." Diane replied.  
  
"You're not the only cryptographer in the building, lieutenant." Blythe replied, "There is our staff of a couple dozen blokes. You're the best I've got, but even the best need to rest."  
  
"I guess you're right, sir." Diane replied, "You know I spent a good part of my weekend in Blackpool sleeping. Chris was a bit annoyed; I think he was expecting a bit more spice than just tucking me in Friday night."  
  
"Take care, lieutenant." Blythe replied, taking the transmission reports from Diane.  
  
"You too sir." Diane replied, heading off for her room.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC 


	5. Mission 2: Operation Janus, Part 2

Mission 2: Operation Janus, Part 2  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. The song Lili Marlene isn't mine either. This site has the lyrics and rhythm to it ()  
  
The Mummy crossover was my idea and the song Lili Marlene was actually one of the most popular songs of World War II among both German and Allied soldiers.  
  
The story so far: Rusty is given a mission straight from Command to kill Claude Frollo. Vic Fontaine is slowly becoming the mansion's unofficial counselor. Diane's having a rough time at work.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Excuse me, sir." Says a voice. I turn around and see a fellow, with a neatly trimmed blonde beard with longish blonde hair in a blue uniform. Traverse Town Police, "Might I ask what you're doing here?"  
  
"I'm new to the town." I say, "I'm here visiting Cid, I've got some business of interest to him from Britannica."  
  
"Name?" the officer says.  
  
"Russell Pemberton." I say smoothly, almost rehearsed, because throughout the flight I rehearsed naming myself Russell Pemberton in all conversations. Before the assassination tomorrow I will accustom myself to calling myself Russell Payne."  
  
"Well Mr. Pemberton, I'm Constable Phoebus, Traverse Town Police Department. Are you new to this town?"  
  
"Yes sir," I reply, "I'm on a purchasing run."  
  
"I'd like to see some identification." The officer says. I can read his tag and it has the name Phoebus written on it. I produce my ID and he says, "Checks out fine, Mr. Pemberton, but there's been a lot of suspicious activity around here these days, so I'm going to have to ask you to return to your accommodations."  
  
"Yes sir." I reply. Wanker! That ruins my planned CTR for the night, but that doesn't mean I don't already have good intelligence at my disposal. I also can set up an OP (Observation Point) in one of Cid's loft windows facing the Opera House and keep it under observation, the typical patterns of foot patrols, Heartless activity, security checkpoints and state of readiness of same. Are they going to have a well rehearsed dragnet to catch an assassin after the kill is discovered? Are the guards tired, bored looking and easily distracted? Are they vigilant, alert, and serious? I need to know these to plan my evasion.  
  
From the look of things the good Constables deputies seem to be a mixture. One of them is a fat slob of a man. The other is a firm and fit looking fellow who could doubtlessly give the Guardsmen that take care of security at HQ a run for their money. With such patchy security forces I have to be ready for both eventualities, but I'm going to bet my money that the best guards will be on duty tomorrow. After all it's a gala event, attracting people from all around. But the guards will likely be overworked from pulling doubled and tripled shifts, so this can work to my advantage.  
  
I go over the plan in my head; first I will don my disguise and go into the theater as blonde haired, bespectacled Russell Payne. The pistol I will assemble near my DLB in the theater and tuck it into my jacket. I will then go take my seat, wait five minutes before intermission then fire the round into the back of Frollo's skull and leave, ostensibly to make an emergency bathroom break. Then at the DLB I'll leave the papers of Russell Payne, the toupee and glasses, and then alter my appearance and walk out of the theater. I've made final plans, made a couple hours more of observation, noting areas of construction, roving guard routes and the like and now I do what one does between ops. I get my head down and sleep.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The night of truth has arrived, and I've donned my disguise, melting into the crowd of the theater. The silenced pistol is assembled and in a specially modified pocket in my coat. I've made sure that the silenced pistol is ready to be fired from inside my coat; I've already turned off the safety catch, making sure there's a round in the chamber.  
  
I take my seat behind Frollo, the opera isn't too bad, and the music is actually haunting. I believe the chorus is known as Dive into the Heart. I'm casually checking my watch; the five minute mark is fast approaching during this chorus. And I slowly raise the pistol in my hidden pocket, leveling the barrel onto the back of Frollo's head, the business end of the suppressor about six inches away. I slowly squeeze the trigger and feel the gun buck, hearing only a barely audible thump. I count thirty seconds and excuse myself to head to the bathroom. As soon as I've finished putting everything into the DLB I hear a shrill scream.  
  
I melt into the crowd, and I've just made it out of the building when a plain clothes fellow, a Secret Police bloke by the looks of him says, "You there...I need to see your identification."  
  
I produce it and he says, "This looks suspicious, come with me."  
  
His PPK is out and I appear to comply as he herds me into an alley. As soon as he punches me in the stomach I hunch over and fire the silenced pistol into his midsection. He spits a mouthful of blood out, but he's still attempting to cry out. I kick him in the crotch and he crashes against a wall. He spins as he falls; hitting his head on the wall and I jump atop him and snap his neck. I hope to God no one heard that scuffle, but that's a slim hope. I grab the man's PPK; it's a small, easily concealable handgun with a seven round magazine. I stick it in the other pocket and run into the milling crowd. I'm not going back to the safe house, that's the easiest way to give the enemy trackers a beeline to where the man who just killed Claude Frollo is hiding.  
  
I'm running out of options, and I need to think of more of them, fast. Obviously I can't blend in with a touch of blood on my clothing. But I know that there's one area that any would be assassin would have to be insane to hide in. But however the insane choice is fast becoming my only choice. I climb a stack of shipping crates, surreptitiously sneaking into the Second District.  
  
As soon as I find a quiet nook I check my weapons. I have eight rounds remaining in the silenced pistol, seven in the PPK, fifteen rounds total. And who knows how many Heartless infest Second District. Certainly more than fifteen rounds will handle. I chamber a round into the PPK. It doesn't have a suppressor, but it will do as a backup. I tuck it into the waistband of my trousers, with a round chambered and the safety on. With the .380 rounds being a touch bigger they have more punch. The only problem is they have no sound suppression. If I fire it, someone will hear it. I keep the silenced pistol out, because I can kill Heartless silently if I encounter them. Only if I run out of rounds will I use the PPK.  
  
I see a Shadow come at me and I kill it with a single shot to the head, ducking behind some cover. I am immediately glad I used a silenced weapon, as soon as I get behind concealment a Large Body lumbers by. I would need a rifle shot or a spray of automatic fire to the head to kill it. Pistols don't even make them blink, and to really hurt their bodies I'd need either a Boys Anti Tank Rifle or Bazooka. None of these weapons I have.  
  
Those stories you might hear about SAS men taking on Large Bodies with only knives and sheer courage are a lot of pig's swallow. The best improvised weapons I've seen used against Large Bodies are Molotov cocktails or sticky bombs (take a sock, smear it with axle grease, cram it with explosives, attach a crude fuse, light and throw and it'll stick to anything it hits). There are two ways to kill a Large Body, both firepower and explosives, or accurate aimed rifle shots work well.  
  
The Large Body passes by after a while and I breathe easy, temporarily. I still hear confusion on the other side of the gates, panicked civilians, and security forces trying to reestablish order. I have, after all, killed one of Traverse Town's most upstanding citizens, at least on the outside. Few know what a rotten bastard Frollo actually is outside his involvement in a few shady land schemes. They don't know his involvement in the Pipeline, and the reason I was contracted to blow off his head.  
  
The noise is dying down back there and right as I'm creeping back towards the wall I see two more Soldier Heartless. I take both of them out with rounds from the silenced pistol, five rounds in that weapon now remain and shots from my other weapon are bound to draw more bad guys my way.  
  
Wait a minute? If the security forces think I'm fool hardy enough to flee deeper into the Second District after dark, when the Heartless abound, then they'll dispatch patrols on my trail, clearing out the Heartless and providing me with a clear path back to First District where I can sneak back in undetected.  
  
I pull the Walther from my trousers as two Shadow Heartless come my way. Firing single rounds into their heads I run deeper into Second District. Sure enough I see columns of security troops running to investigate. I stay hidden in a back alley, climbing into an air vent, and heading back towards the Item Shop.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As I wait for the right moment to head for the airfield, with instructions to meet another RAF pilot in civilian attire standing next to an Air Britannica Lysander, I hear a melody wafting into the loft from a radio and smile despite myself. It's a song that I listened to at promptly 2155 (9:55 PM) every night, as the station's sign off broadcast. Radio Egyptica, a propaganda radio station controlled by Maleficent's forces to entertain Imhotep's human soldiers in the Egyptian desert. It used to be played in German, because a lot the fresh human troops Maleficent sent in to help the Heartless were from the world of Germania.  
  
The song's name is Lili Marlene. I remember radios all over the British Army blaring in. We tuned into Radio Egyptica at 2155 just to hear this song. The curious tune transcends the hatreds of war, as human soldiers on both sides of the campaign enjoy this song. The soldiers on both fronts love this song. I remember hearing soldiers in rear echelon billets singing it loudly, or captured enemy troops singing it as we marched them to the prison camps. I guess some things are universal. Within a year, because the generals weren't to keen on British soldiers singing a German song in their own lines, we had a version in English played on BBC Radio, Egypt.  
  
"Underneath the lantern. By the barrack gate. Darling I remember, the way you used to wait. 'Twas there that you whispered tenderly, that you loved me, you'd always be. My Lili of the Lamplight, my own Lili Marlene." I sing along with the tune, harkening back to my days when the SAS first was founded in the deserts of Egypt.  
  
One woman springs to my mind whenever I hear this song. Diane. I think of her beautiful brown eyes, how I find myself lost staring into them. I think of how that short style of hers brings them out, how it frames her lovely face. But it isn't just her physical beauty I love; it's her warm, caring personality. She's the sort of girl whom, when she finds a broken winged bird, takes it in and tries everything to save it.  
  
"Time would come for roll call. Time for us to part. Darling, I'd caress you. And press you to my heart. And there 'neath that far off lantern light. I'd hold you tight, we'd kiss "good-night," My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marlene." I keep singing along.  
  
I wonder how she's doing now. She's probably enjoying another spare moment with Chris, her pretty boy Navy pilot, if the Sea Hawk's still in Liverpool. She seems to really love him, and I'm left in the cold because of it. Bereft of my Lili Marlene, I was forced by necessity to travel far and wide. My travels have now taken me to the assassination of Claude Frollo.  
  
"Orders came for sailing. Somewhere over there. All confined to barracks. Was more than I could bear; I knew you were waiting in the street, I heard your feet, but could not meet. My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marlene." I keep singing along, thinking of my beloved Diane all the while. I wonder what she'd think if she knew the real details of my mission, the death of Claude Frollo.  
  
"Resting in a billet. Just behind the line, even tho' we're parted. Your lips are close to mine; You wait where that lantern softly gleams, your sweet face seems to haunt my dreams, My Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marlene." I continue to sing the last notes to myself as I walk out to the airfield, meet my pilot and fly back home.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
TBC. \\ 


	6. Mission 3: Operation Olympiad, Part 1

Mission 3: Operation Olympiad  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before.  
  
Many thanks to Crescent Venus who helped push this fic along with her reviews.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
I've been back for a few days now. I'm on light duty insomuch that I haven't been assigned any new missions of late. I've just finished a nice run and a work through with the weight set that Sir Niles thoughtfully provided for the soldiers assigned here to use and topped that off with a few rounds on the punching bag. In the Regiment, once you're in, you're expected to maintain a proper level of physical fitness at all times and if you fail to do so, you're RTU'd, returned to unit, end of story. The fact that SAS soldiers are the fittest members of the army is what enables us to carry out great feats behind enemy lines.  
  
After I've cleaned up, I head out to the rifle range. Sir Niles is quite a gun enthusiast, but we've modified his range to military specifications, insomuch that we have the various guard units practicing their skills as well as SOE and OSS operatives practicing marksmanship. I'm carrying, over my shoulder, an Enfield No. 4T rifle, a sniper version of our standard Enfield rifles used in the line infantry units.  
  
The goal of going to the range is to zero a weapon at a particular range. To zero a weapon you merely fire at a known distance, say 300 yards until you can hit the bull's eye consistently at that range. For sniper rifles, that's making sure the scope as well as the iron sights are zeroed. In accordance with the standard operating procedures, I'm making sure the sniper rifles are zeroed to 300 yards with open sights and 600 yards with scopes.  
  
"Rusty?" Diane says, walking up to me as I'm walking towards the range, "Colonel Hosgrove wants to see you."  
  
"Did he say what it was about?" I reply, as I shoulder my rifle and walk back towards the armory to drop it off.  
  
"He didn't." Diane said, "He just said you're needed, immediately."  
  
As I drop the rifle off at the armory, I make a mental note to zero it after lunch. As we walk towards the mansion I notice Diane's wearing that scent again, that light lilac aroma that I'll forever associate with her. The only thing she knows about the Traverse Town mission I pulled, recently, was her part in it, that my mission was reconnaissance and the fact that Frollo's death was advertised in every newspaper in Traverse Town and a lot of other worlds. I don't think it takes much brains to put to the fact that I had some sort of role in the assassination of one Claude Frollo, and I'm sure Diane knows I did him in but can't ask me if I did because that mission doesn't even exist in our archives. You see we committed everything from the mission file, the equipment list, the dossier on Claude Frollo, even the forged papers from my mission to the incinerator. There is no evidence, in theory that this operation ever existed.  
  
There is evidence, in Traverse Town, however. I was sure to have a forger copy one set of my papers, took a photograph of the contents of the DLB in Cid's shop, and put both items and a set of spare civilian clothing into a false panel in the wall of Cid's loft. This is insurance so Darby or any other blokes who fancy screwing me over will have a nasty disadvantage with any sort of bargaining with me.  
  
"Lieutenant Puckett reporting as ordered sir." I say, as I rap on the door.  
  
"Come in." Hosgrove says.  
  
I do so and he says, "Well lieutenant, your last job went off without a hitch. Conveniently Claude Frollo died without any trace of evidence that links his murder back to us."  
  
I smile inwardly as he speaks. Major Darby's standing behind the table, the foppish bastard that he is. He's probably one of the most critical blokes I've ever met since I'd joined the Army and I remember a couple clashes with him when I was with the Royal Anglican Regiment before I joined the SAS.  
  
He's looking at me now, with that critical eye. In his eyes I was never a good enough officer. "Right, this is your next operation." Darby begins, "As you know 1 SAS is operating in the Olympia Theater of Operations. The 'scalawags' are working extensively with local resistance movements against Hades."  
  
I bristle inwardly at Mr. Spit and Polish. Sure members of the SAS may look a bit scruffy to the average Army officer, but we do things the average Army officer wouldn't even think of doing. What kind of bloke parachutes out of a plane at night behind enemy lines, commits acts of sabotage so effective that if you're captured it's a sure ticket to being shot.  
  
"You're objective is to assist with Operation Olympiad." Darby begins. I can't believe that bastard's been permitted to be the Special Operations Liason officer, coordinating efforts of various Allied Special Forces units, including my beloved Regiment, "SAS units have been parachuting behind enemy lines to assist Olympia's resistance in destroying Hades' bridge routes across the rivers and mountain passes. "  
  
"I believed OSS could lend a hand." Hosgrove adds, "And who better than a former officer from the SAS to go in."  
  
"I see you've been practicing using that Enfield sniper rifle." Darby says, "You'll be putting that to good use."  
  
"Lieutenant Schonke will brief you on more necessary equipment if you have no further questions." Hosgrove adds.  
  
"No sir." I reply. I know enough not to ask too many questions in my line of work. I've got two operations under my belt with OSS, plus several with 1 SAS, and I know soldiers have to follow orders.  
  
I walk out into the hallway where Diane's waiting for me with more equipment lists. I can see she's feeling her talents are being wasted in briefing operatives on missions, but Darby 'demoted' her to that role because he feels that she's incompetent. Bollocks! She spends hours decoding enemy transmissions or creating new encryption protocols. She doesn't need this bloody job of supply officer pushed down on her.  
  
"As you know you're operating with your old unit again." Diane says, "You already know that you're carrying the Enfield rifle into battle, but I took the liberty of packing a sidearm. I hear the snipers' request for pistols all the time in case the fighting gets close. Enemy forces known to be operating in the area are largely Heartless but expect Hades to come up with a few nasty surprises."  
  
"Right." I reply, it was a good thing I was zeroing that Enfield anyway, because at the ranges that combat in mountainous terrain or open plains takes place nothing beats a telescopic rifle.  
  
I notice she looks tired, "Didn't sleep well?"  
  
"Decoding a couple messages kept me awake later than I thought." Diane replies, "Plus Darby's been on my case. It's like he doesn't believe in me..."  
  
"Diane, I believe in you." I reply, I want to say more but she's already got Chris, "I know you're the most capable one in the intelligence department. Hell even Blythe says that, and he's not the sort to make compliments that easily."  
  
"Darby somehow thinks that because I'm a woman I can't do anything that men can do." Diane replies.  
  
"Darby's a bloody prick." I reply.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Puckett," Darby says, "Did you mean that?"  
  
"Yes sir." I reply, laconically.  
  
"Remember what they say about what you say about your superior officers..." Darby replies.  
  
"Yes sir. Sorry, you are an over critical, chauvinist who singles out people he doesn't like and tries to run them out of the service." I reply.  
  
"Puckett, you're lucky you're going on a mission." Darby says, storming off.  
  
"Rusty, aren't you worried..." Diane says, when Darby's out of earshot.  
  
"Frankly, no." I reply, as we head out to the armory and supply buildings where I draw ammunition, rations and other supplies.  
  
Diane takes me over to a nearby jeep and drives me off to the airfield. Waiting is an American DC-3 transport. I see two other fellows, wearing the distinct brown berets with the maple leaf insignia that instantly identifies them as Canadian Special Forces. A couple jumpmasters are helping us rig our parachutes, attach our weapons, and make sure that our gear is secure.  
  
"Good luck." Diane smiles at me, looking for all the world like a dark eyed pixie.  
  
"I'll see you soon." I reply smiling.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
A few hours later, we're flying above Olympia. For operation security I have never met these two Canadians or even heard I would be working with them until I'm aboard the aircraft. They are Sergeant Black Leclair, a French Canadian, and Lance Corporal Todd Farley, a young, bookish looking kid from Nova Scotia.  
  
These two are demolition experts and our objective is to demolish a bridge over the Melegar Gorge before 0500, when a convoy of Heartless are going to cross the gorge and engage 4 Commando, holding Olympiad Pass. From a radio transmission we know a couple of survivors from a five man SAS team are also in the area. When their raid against the bridge went ass upwards two of the men were killed on site, a third was wounded and then killed by the Heartless later on and the other two escaped. One of them had a radio/telephone kit and signaled to HQ that we had two SAS operatives trapped behind the lines.  
  
That's where we come in. I see the light in the cabin go to green and the loadmaster opens the left door. Doing the airborne shuffle, myself and the two Canadians move forward like three pregnant ducks, hooking up to the static line over our heads. I'm at the front, since I'm the officer and it in the airborne the officer jumps first. I take my position, hands on the outside of the door and with a gentle assist from the jump master I clear the aircraft and feel the jolt as my parachute opens.  
  
Over my head I see Black Leclair's chute starting to open and a few seconds later Farley's chute goes open. The wind is steady, but not gusting from the north east. According to our calculations we should hit the drop zone pretty much on top of the SAS troops' last recorded position.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Lieutenant Schonke," Hosgrove began, "I notice you've been looking fairly exhausted lately."  
  
"We all have been sir." Diane replied, "Cryptography is tiring work."  
  
"You seem more tired than everyone else, lieutenant." Hosgrove replied, "Frankly I'm concerned. Blythe says you're the best cryptographer in the department, and he shares my concerns."  
  
"Sir, I can't just abandon my post..." Diane replied.  
  
"You're doing no such thing, lieutenant." Hosgrove replied, "How long do you think you can keep working with less than two or three hours of sleep? I managed to secure for you a ninety-six hour liberty pass, effective tomorrow, I suggest you get some rest and use the next few hours to make arrangements."  
  
"Sir..." Diane protested.  
  
"That's an order, lieutenant." Hosgrove said, firmly, but gently, "Dismissed."  
  
Diane executed an about face and walked out of the office. On her way she saw Major Darby who looked at her saying, "You get out of things too easily. Do you think because you're female I'm not going to call you a bad performer..."  
  
Diane stiffened, taking the verbal abuse. Silently she thanked God Rusty wasn't around or she might suffer one of his well intentioned, but ill advised, attempts to stand up for her. God knows she was working her hardest, and only Darby held the opinion she was a bad performer, but this was one annoyance she didn't need. Darby was such a jerk, plain and simple. She packed her bag and made her arrangements before she went to bed.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Well, no sign of the SAS troopers at the landing site. Black Leclair is guarding the southwest corner of the pass with his M1 Garand. Todd Farley's carrying his Thompson sub machinegun.  
  
We find our two SAS guys in a cave. "Fancy meeting you here wanker."  
  
"Digger, come here often mate." I reply.  
  
"What's the situation..." Digger says, he's about ¾ drunk from the morphine. Thankfully, Fosby, the other trooper is a skilled medic as well as a radioman.  
  
"We parachuted in, six of us, with Lieutenant Atwood." Fosby says. Atwood was a new fellow, a young Australian 2nd Lieutenant, from my old rifle company.  
  
"We got dispersed by a nasty wind." Fosby continues, "Arnhem and Collins were swept in front of a Heartless position and were killed instantly. We lost Craycroft when it snowed here six days ago. LT got killed in an ambush three days ago."  
  
Arnhem, Collins, Craycroft, and Atwood were guys I'd served with since the first days in Egypt. Knowing they're dead, victims of this war with the Heartless, makes me more determined to blow this bridge.  
  
"Have you guys gotten a look at the bridge?" I asked.  
  
"Craycroft and Collins had the demolitions kit, and both of them are dead." Fosby replies.  
  
"That's taken care of. We've got a demolition kit handy. We just need to reconnoiter the bridge before we blow it. Todd, stay with Fosby and Digger, Black Leclair and I will take a closer look at the bridge." I reply.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Diane walked into the foyer of the mansion. Flight Sergeant Dora May was manning the foyer watch. Diane saluted her and asked, "Request permission to go ashore?"  
  
"Permission granted, ma'am." Dora replied, "Enjoy your pass..."  
  
"Thank you, Flight Sergeant." Diane replied, smiling, "I could use the break."  
  
"You look like it too, ma'am." Dora replied.  
  
"All I really need now is an hour or two with a cute masseuse and I'll be in heaven." Diane replied.  
  
"Oh, shall I tell Chris? Or Rusty?" Dora replied, adding a belated, "Ma'am."  
  
"What does Rusty have to do with anything?" Diane smiled, slightly uncomfortably but feeling slightly flattered.  
  
'Oh shit.' Dora thought, backpedaling in her head, "Forget I said anything ma'am."  
  
"Have a good evening Flight Sergeant." Diane replied. She walked out of the foyer and towards her car.  
  
She never made it there. She never saw the two men walking behind her, one of them tall, clean cut and handsome, the other short and fat. They walked noiselessly behind her, blending into the shadows until they got close enough. The last thing Diane remembered smelling was the sickly sweet aroma of chloroform as the cloth pad was pressed to her mouth and nose.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
We're gonna hit the bridge at last light, so this means almost a day of lying in wait at the bridge, observing the guards, checking the structure for weak points and the like, and finding the perfect areas to snipe at the said guards from. Black Leclair has his turn at the binoculars, taking note of traffic, location of guard posts and the like. I'm currently asleep.  
  
"It looks like we should place the explosives on the main support girders, and a secondary charge at the secondary supports. Once those go the structure will cave in on itself." Black Leclair says.  
  
"Guards?" I reply, waking up.  
  
"Two MG 42 machinegun positions, sandbag bunkers, four troops a piece, Soldier Heartless." Black Leclair says.  
  
"Vehicle traffic?" I ask.  
  
"Not very heavy in the daytime, but the two anti-aircraft sites up the road make it risky for air strikes. But when we blow her, we should do our flyboys a favor and kill those AA guns..."  
  
"Sounds perfect." I reply.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Up Next: The mission concludes and Rusty goes rogue on his quest to save Diane... 


	7. Mission 3: Operation Olympiad, Part 2

Mission 3: Operation Olympiad, Part 2  
  
Disclaimer: Same as before. Warning, this may turn into a darkfic sooner or later.

* * *

Last light. Game time. As soon as I see the signal that Black Leclair is in position, I'm going to engage the machinegun nests with accurate rifle fire. I've got a good position a few feet underneath the crest of a nearby hill, behind a tangle of brush and boulders. Before Black Leclair started his trip down into the bridge I cut several firing lanes and even did a few dry runs on the sentries.  
  
I see a small flash of a penlight, a sign that Black Leclair's in position. I aim slowly at the nearest gunner and squeeze off a round, killing the first Heartless with a round through the head. Rapidly I cycle the bolt, aiming at the second gunner, over four hundred yards away. The second Shadow Heartless is trying to maneuver the light machinegun about as I've got my crosshairs centered just below his throat. If my trajectory calculation is off, I'll score a chest hit, but if it's bang on accurate I'll blast him right between the eyes.  
  
Crack! The rifle sings again and I see another Heartless fall dead. I cycle a fresh round into the chamber, two dead Heartless from two rounds of ammunition, the third, a Soldier Heartless is also going to retrieve the gun. Right, he's still in the nest, so I squeeze off another shot, this one calculated on gut instinct. This one strikes him just under the armpit of his raised arm. The shock from a .303 round alone can sometimes be fatal, but I know this one's gone right through a lot of internal organs. He's spastically twitching on the ground as the round rips through his body.  
  
The first nest is neutralized. Now for the second, the one that has the best firing position on the bridge. The first Soldier Heartless is easy to pick off, because it exposes its head a bit too long, and that's all I need at three hundred and fifty yards. Crack! I've put him down for good. The two other gunners are firing wildly into the emerging darkness. All they've done is pinpoint themselves to me. I fire two successive shots and the gunfire stops.  
  
Black Leclair sprints from hiding and begins placing his explosives on the various spots on the bridge he's identified as most vulnerable to sabotage operations. Six rounds, six dead Heartless but there could be more, so I remove the almost empty clip from my weapon and put in a fresh ten round magazine. It's a good thing I reloaded when I did because I see a patrol of Heartless coming towards the bridge. It's at least a platoon sized element, forty to fifty of them.  
  
No worries, all I've got to do is find the leader, or failing that the lead scout. Killing one or both of them will cause the Heartless to go to the ground. They'll entrench or better still, head towards me and avoid Black Leclair entirely. I draw a bead on the lead scout, slowly breathing out air as my finger depresses the trigger. Crack! The lead scout falls dead and the patrol hits the deck and finds cover. They've frozen, which makes them sitting ducks. As long as I can keep them from advancing on Black Leclair long enough for him to wire his explosives, detonate them and run, we're good to go.  
  
A pair of Bandits attempt to rush Black Leclair. I squeeze off two rounds in quick succession. The first round strikes home, sending the creature spiraling into the ground. The second round misses the other Bandit by about three inches, but that's enough to get it to stop and turn its head. It's the last thing the creature does because I put a second round right between its eyes.  
  
A burst of machinegun fire from the Heartless position alerts me. Evidently they followed the SOP and carried three light machineguns. I relocate to another vantage point, as the first burst of fire narrowly misses my hiding place. Wanker! That was close. I've gotten another position underneath a half fallen tree and draw a bead on the first gunner and his assistant. It's an almost perfect couple of head shots.  
  
I squeeze the trigger again, as soon as the first Heartless appears in my sights. It flips backward, as the round tears a hole through its forehead. The second Heartless ducks behind cover and I've got just a piece of the second Heartless gunner in my sights. It's all I need. I squeeze off another shot, my fifth one from this magazine, and I've broken the creature's back, sending it convulsing on the ground. Another Heartless out of action from accurate sniping, as I pan my scope around their position, if a Heartless raises it's head above the rocks, it's dead.  
  
A Heartless slowly raises itself from the rocks, only to duck again as a .303 round clips off the rocks. A near miss on my part, I'll be sure to correct my aim a bit higher next time. I hear two more rifle shots from Black Leclair's Garand rifle. A Heartless falls dead, two rounds to the chest. Another Bandit is creeping up on him so I kill it with a round through the throat. The creature twists spastically as it dies.  
  
I see Black Leclair is running to clear the bridge and I keep up my long range harassing fire on the Heartless, scoring kills or severe wounds upon them as Black Leclair detonates the explosives and hot wires an enemy truck. Oblingingly he pulls up to my position, I hop aboard and we pick up the other three blokes in the cave.

* * *

"Put her in with the other victims." The blonde haired, hawk nosed, and balding man said. Despite his baby faced appearance, Lewis Dodgson was one of the most ruthless and aggressive fellows in Maleficent's pipeline of kidnappers.  
  
His two accomplices, a clean cut Californian man with sandy brown hair, and a tubby, bespectacled fellow with a handlebar mustache were carrying Diane. Her hands and feet were tied with rope and she had been gagged via a rag stuffed in her mouth and held inside there by a few strips of adhesive tape.  
  
In the small room of the abandoned warehouse there were half a dozen victims. "You idiots, could you have picked a more conspicuous victim!" Dodgson fumed, "Maleficent's gonna kill us..."  
  
"She was going on leave. If we can get her off this world and somewhere else fast enough, we're home free." George Baselton, the fat man with glasses, replied.  
  
"Chances are this is going to go unnoticed anyway." Howard King said.  
  
"You idiot! Chances are people are gonna notice something's amiss." Dodgson said.  
  
"Hey," Baselton asked Dodgson, "Isn't she the woman that turned you in for theft."  
  
"Why yes?" Dodgson said, "Greetings, Lieutenant Schonke. It's been so long. Remember me?"  
  
Diane nodded silently. As an ensign aboard her first ship she noticed that a few pieces of equipment from the storage lockers were missing. She later found out that a Lieutenant Commander Lewis Dodgson was responsible. Her testimony had been most damaging at the trial.  
  
"See, revenge and profit all in the same package..." Baselton said.

* * *

NAVY LIEUTENANT MISSING. Three words constituting a newspaper headline just burned themselves into my mind. We're in a bivouac on Olympia waiting for our transport to take us back to Britannica. It's a copy of one of London's largest newspapers so I don't doubt its credibility. I see the picture of the missing lieutenant, its Diane, without a doubt.  
  
I'm still in shock as I board the plane. I can't believe it. But when I reach the mansion I can tell by everyone's glum demeanor that the headline was true. Denial's given way to anger and pain. Why her? If anyone was in the risky job field, it'd be me, Rusty Puckett, 1 SAS.  
  
As I sit in the card room, not speaking to anyone and radiating a 'touch me and die' attitude. I hear a voice behind me, "Why the long face pallie?" Vic Fontaine said, "Oh."  
  
She's missing and there's not a damned thing I can do except carry on with my tasks. "Colonel Hosgrove wanted me to give you this." Vic said.  
  
"A three day pass?" I reply.  
  
"It's because he predicted her loss would most visibly upset you." Vic says.

* * *

Having no choice but to take the pass, I walk out into London's streets wearing slacks, a collared shirt and grab my coat. Bollocks to three days to rest my grief, I'm going after the blokes who kidnapped Diane. I'm going to kill them in cold blood. I can't take weapons out of the armory, it would be too conspicuous as they are counted every hour and if one is missing security will go to its highest alert and all personnel on pass recalled.  
  
I elect on searching out a firearms store I know of in Soho, one of London's seedier neighborhoods. As I walk down London's streets, I notice two men have been alternately trailing me. One of them is a fat man with glasses and the other is a clean cut pretty boy.  
  
I notice Pretty Boy is right behind me and see a 9mm Walther P-38 automatic appearing in his hands. I stop, raising my hands, showing I'm unarmed. He approaches slowly saying, "If you're looking to penetrate the Pipeline, the end of the line is here..."  
  
'For you mate.' I think as I quickly turn and rush him, shouting loudly with an almost animal roar. I barrel into him with a near perfect rugby tackle and the P-38 flies from his hands into the cobblestone. He tries to crawl madly for it but I grab him around the neck and start twisting only to have him bite me in the forearm. He flips me over with surprising strength with his hands on my throat. I simply send my knee into his groin and loosen his grip, managing to sink my teeth into his neck.  
  
"ARAGH!!!" The guy screams, painfully and I drive the heel of my palm into his jaw and turn him onto his stomach and put an arm around his neck. I knew from the outset of this fight I was going to kill him and I remain steadfast in my determination to do just that. I begin twisting his head with all the force I can muster. Breaking a man's neck isn't as simple as its depicted in action films, it take practice and a lot of strength. It is about a minute before I feel the bones of his neck give way and the struggling man beneath me stops moving.  
  
First I grab the P-38 and stuff it into the waistband of my trousers. I then hide in the shadows and see a fat man with a mustache and glasses run up. "Oh shit." he moans, seeing his dead partner on the pavement.  
  
And this little piggy runs all the way home. He doesn't even have the tactical sense to conound potential trackers. He just beelines it to an abandoned warehouse on the London docks. He runs inside and I lie in wait outside, just in case he decides to bring a mate or two to play along.

* * *

"Dodgson! King's dead! King's dead!" a breathless George Baselton said as he ran inside.  
  
Lewis Dodgson turned around to see Baselton running inside. "Someody got King..."  
  
"George, for Christ's sake, calm the fuck down." Dodgson said, "Get that gun of yours out and..."  
  
That was as far as Dodgson got before he saw Baselton fall to the ground clutching at his throat.

* * *

That was close, as I snuck towards the entrance I saw the fat guy pull a pistol. I pulled the Walther free first and fired a round, drilling a hole through his throat. He falls to the floor, choking, gasping and clutching at his throat. I shoot him through the head to put him out of his misery.  
  
A blond, balding, hawk-faced fellow is reaching for a weapon and I fire a round into his stomach and approach quickly, kicking a Colt 1911 away from him. It's a .45 caliber weapon; American made, and has a lot more punch than the 9mm I'm currently carrying.  
  
"Belly wound, it can take a while to die from those." I say with mock sympathy.  
  
"Bastard..." Dodgson says, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva at me.  
  
"Really, such harsh language and expectoration are unbecoming of an officer." I say.  
  
He goes and reaches for the .45, making a commendable effort, but I quickly step on his hand. "You're going nowhere, fast." I say.  
  
"Well, if you're looking for Diane, she's not here anymore." Dodgson grins nastily.  
  
"Well, where is she?" I ask.  
  
"I'm not telling you shit." Dodgson replies.  
  
"Fair enough," I reply, and kick him in the ribs. I hear a bone break as I do so.  
  
"AGH!" Dodgson says.  
  
"So, are we going to tell me where she is?" I ask, slowly, as though speaking to a child.  
  
"Go to hell!" Dodgson says.  
  
"I've been to hell already. It's time for you to go there." I reply, "Whether it's quick by me shooting you again, or slow from this belly wound I don't care."  
  
"Traverse Town!" Dodgson says, "They always take them into Traverse Town..."  
  
"Fair enough, pal." I say, and aim the pistol at him. Firing the pistol into his forehead, I now am armed with enough information to go find Diane. I have three very inconvenient corpses to dispose of, though. But the fact that I killed the three gang members so close to the waterfront gives me a way to do just that...  
  
Next stop, the biggest hole for intrigue, danger, and hopefully Diane. Traverse Town. I tuck Dodgson's weapon in the waistband of my trousers and walk off.

* * *

TBC (Pls review my recent fic, Tales of the Heart if it isn't too much trouble.) 


	8. Gunfight in Traverse Town

Gunfight in Traverse Town

Disclaimer: Same as before. Warning darkfic coming.

* * *

Traverse Town has always been the hotbed of intrigue and cloak and dagger dealings. I have both the Walther 9mm with six rounds in the current magazine and an eight round clip I took from Fat Boy's corpse. Dodgson's .45 is in the waistband of my trousers and both pistols have safety's on with have rounds chambered. All I need to do is draw them, flick the safety off and fire away.

I've followed the latest clue of the now deceased Dodgson into Traverse Town. I need a clue before Diane's trail grows cold. As I walk through the First District I pass by the local tavern. If anything I can get a pint of ale before continuing on my merry search. One thing I've learned since leaving for the Army at seventeen is that information can usually be found at a location's watering hole.

I step inside the Tiki Room, the First District bar. I keep my hand near the P.38 in my coat pocket, this place can be a bit rough. Expatriates, beings from many different worlds destroyed by the Heartless, men and women a few steps ahead of desperation are all about the place.

The bartender is a fellow with a glass left eye named Falco. An Atlantean expatriate, if I'm not mistaken, his Tiki Room is the place to go for information. I head up to the bar, taking a stool closest to the back wall. I can't be ambushed from behind, but I've also got no line of retreat.

Falco comes my way, he's a stocky bloke with a bit of fat about his midsection. Color Sergeant Nikolas Kyprios told me about the old bloke he served with whilst protecting the King of Atlantis. "What can I get you soldier?"

"A pint of ale if you will, mate." I reply.

Falco leans towards me saying, "The pro-Heartless gangs in the area have been unusually active of late."

"Nothing I've heard of mate, pass that one on to other blokes in the neighborhood." I reply, indicating he should tell the Intelligence chaps operating around here.

"Got it." Falco says, "See that woman over there?"

"The blue haired lass at the other end of the bar?" I ask.

"She has an interesting yarn to spin, but often most of her tales are rather colored by the drink." Falco says, loudly for people to hear and then tells me, more subtly, "She's former Royal Forces Intelligence. A good source for intelligence, but rather expensive."

"Right, what's her name?" I ask.

"Goes by Cascade." Falco says, "Intelligence types, always acting strange with their weird code names."

"Well, fear not mate, I'll head her way, chat her up and hopefully I'll get some useful intel. Put it all on my tab." I reply.

I walk up to the mysterious woman, wearing a glistening evening dress and drinking a martini. "Barkeep, a martini for the lady." I say, as I take the stool beside her.

"Thirst for liquid can be quenched, but thirst for knowledge is always insatiable." Cascade responds mysteriously. That being said, she takes the vodka martini and drains in.

Wanker. If it's gonna be a vodka martini for every sentence I'll be broke if not dead by the end of this one. "The slaver gangs have been quite active of late. There is word that an American naval officer was kidnapped by them."

"Where is she?" I ask.

"Your voice betrays you, your concern for her safety is motivated by something other than duty." Cascade says, "She will not tarry for long here, her captors will move her..."

As she speaks I notice a couple of blokes walking up to Cascade and see the unmistakeable shape of a pistol being drawn. I shove Cascade to the ground, bring out the P.38 and fire rounds into the assassin, sending him falling to the ground.

The shots of my pistol draw out several screams and more weapons appear around the bar. "End of the line soldier boy!" his partner shouts, drawing his own pistol. I plaster him with two 9mm rounds and a .45 after I pull my other pistol loose.

Apparently more pro-Heartless gang members come into the bar, armed with pistols and knives. One of them behind me has a pistol aimed my way but doesn't fire it because he is promptly sent flying by a blast of buckshot.

Behind me I see Falco holding an M97 trench shotgun. He pumps the weapon again with a metallic click-clack and aims at another gang member, blowing a sizeable hole through his chest. I grab the deceased gang member's pistol, it's a Mauser M1918 pistol, commonly called a broom handle, that can fire full automatic. I aim it at another couple of thugs, firing towards Cascade from behind an upturned table.

I keep their heads down and run behind another table. As they taught us in the infantry, and later the SAS you always move forward and take the fight to them. You're dead anyway, so anything you accomplish is a bonus.

After I reload another clip into the P.38 I advance towards another table, shooting all the while. The broom handle went empty a long time ago, and I discarded it. One of the two thugs is lying on his back with a sucking chest wound, an almost always fatal injury unless a medic gets to you. The second thug aims his sawed off shotgun my way, only to get drilled twice through the head by pistol shots from a hidden derringer Cascade was holding.

Two thugs fire a burst of fire from a broom handle and Falco falls. They run outside into Traverse Town's Second District. I head over to Falco, vaulting over the bar, to see that he's wounded. Three bullets have shattered his left arm and grazed his side. It's nothing serious, when a doctor gets to him. I tear the shirt of one of the dead thugs into strips and bandage his wounds.

"Mind if I borrow this mate?" I ask, picking up his M97 shotgun.

"Sure, I've got about four more of them lying around the bar. Just be sure to give those bastards the good news for me." Falco says.

"Call a doctor." I tell Cascade, "I'm coming back this way."

"Wait! Don't be too hasty. Heartless and their agents populate the other districts, making it dangerous after dark." Cascade says.

"Right." I reply. I take stock of the various discarded weapons around the bar, picking up extra twelve gauge shells for the shotgun, picking up an M1911 .45 pistols, like the one I took

off Dodgson, and discarding the now empty P.38.

"I presume you know how to use this?" I ask, pressing a Webley Revolver into Cascade's right hand.

"I do." Cascade replies.

"Good." I say, passing her a handful of rounds. "Keep a watch over Mr. Falco..."

"It is dangerous to go alone." Cascade replies, "Falco can take care of himself."

She indicates him pulling a sawed off shotgun from behind a false panel and says, "I will accompany you, Mr. Puckett."

"Right." I reply, "Stay no more than two feet behind me and cover my back."  
  
I enter the Second District in much the same manner as I did last time I was in Traverse Town, climbing over the wall. As I climb I feel bullets whiz past my head and see the two gang members running off. Three Soldier Heartless appear to challenge us and I squeeze the trigger of the shotgun as I land on my feet. The cloud of buckshot tears the head off the Heartless in a splatter of black blood.

The other two Soldier Heartless charge and I back against the wall, firing another shotgun blast. The first goes down with a smoking hole in the center of its chest. The second staggers back a pace, but is apparently still able to fight. I fire another round into the midsection at point blank range and tear the Heartless in half. The third Heartless retreats, running smack into Cascade's line of fire. With unerring accuracy she kills it. As I run after the gang members I reload my shotgun, making sure the chamber has the full five shells in it.

"HALT!" I shout, aiming my shotgun at one of the gang members. Apparently they've split up. Cascade is watching my back, to make sure the other isn't going to come up and kill me.

The fellow is young, a skinny little punk out of his teens. His wavy blonde hair is laced with sweat, indecision flickers in his blue eyes. Surrender or die, his options aren't good. The bore of a twelve gauge shotgun must seem like the barrel of a cannon or the maw of an abyss. He has to know that this is the fire breathing contraption that's blasted away two Soldier Heartless, ripping them apart bodily. He can lay down his weapon or fight.

"Lay down your arms, and you will not be shot!" I shout.

The man turns, pointing his M1918 at me and firing a shot that narrowly misses my head by an inch. BANG. I squeeze the trigger, blasting him back a pace. He is still determined to get me, however, raising the gun in his hand shakily. CA-CHUNK, BANG. The blast throws him backward into a wall, tearing a good sized chunk out of his lower midsection. He is still determined to kill me, his grip on the weapon firm and he raises it again. CA-CHUNK, BANG. The Mauser flies into the alley, as the buckshot breaks the punk's right arm. He dives after his weapon as I aim at him again. CA-CHUNK, BANG. At five meters, the shot completely misses. I'm frantically flapping, reloading rounds into the shotgun, running towards the bloke. CA-CHUNK, BANG. CA-CHUNK, BANG. Why the hell won't this bloke die? CA-CHUNK, BANG. With a final blast, the thug ceases movement, the alley awash with his blood.

The gang member makes his living kidnapping and transferring human cargo, but I feel no hatred for the young man I just killed. He was trying to kill me, but I shot first. The buckshot has torn horrible wounds in his body, his right arm and leg are both shattered and he has more lead ball bearings in his body than he has bones. I root through his pocket, finding two spare clips for his M1918, a shotgun round, and several papers.

From his identification I ascertain I've killed an initiate of a slaver gang. Cascade helps me determine that. The man was still trying to get me while I was killing him. He was so determined to carry out the said initiation, which involves killing a man, that he seemed not to care that chunks of his body were being ripped away and bones were being shattered by bursts of buckshot.

Inventorying my pocket I see I have eight rounds of shotgun ammo left, plus seven more on a cloth cover that was on the weapon's butt stock. I have one .45 pistol and three clips for it as well on my person. I hope to God I find Diane, and soon.

"Who is he?" I ask.

"He is an initiate of the Black Hand gang. They are one of three gangs in Traverse Town trafficking human beings." Cascade replies, "Morrero, the wandering one, knows where they are."

* * *

"Fools!" Maleficent shouted to surviving members of the Black Hand, "You could not handle one fat old barkeep or an alcoholic young woman? They should have been silenced before Puckett reached Traverse Town."

"Puckett just appeared on the scene." the leader replied.

Just then the door to the clock tower swung wide open and a somewhat pudgy young man entered, "They're dead! All of them! All they guys we sent to whack the bitch and the barkeep are dead. Some British soldier killed them all!"

Several captives in the next room were near enough to the door to hear this. But gagged and tied up as they were, they were in no state to do anything about it. Diane had just spent a very uncomfortable day and night, sleeping a little bit, crying a lot, trying to keep from panicking. She'd panicked when she had awakened inside a shipping crate shortly after leaving London and the resulting congestion resulting from her sobs nearly suffocated her.

A British soldier. That might mean Rusty. Because there was no overt British or American presence in Traverse Town as it was an apolitical zone where no soldiers were permitted. She'd been here, lying alternately on her back, side, or stomach on a cot of some kind. About a dozen other people were confined in the same area. Lengths of hemp rope bound her wrists behind her back, pinioned her arms at her side, and bound her thighs, knees and ankles. She was gagged by a rag stuffed in her mouth with several strips of that foul, sticky adhesive tape across it.

Despite her captive state, Diane knew she was still an officer. She did everything she could to gather intelligence and try to plan an escape. By her estimates there were a dozen gang members holding her captive. Despite being blindfolded she'd recognized one by the scent of cologne he wore, so she called him Stinky in her mind. Then there was Fatboy, the perverted chubby fellow who enjoyed handling female captives whenever he got the chance. She could still hear both of them talking, so they were still alive. They'd sent out eight guys to kill 'the barkeep and the bitch' but Rusty evidently killed seven of them. Fatboy had apparently been the only survivor, and the way he was describing the fight seemed to imply Rusty had gotten hold of a shotgun, because what else thundered like a cannon but could still be carried by one man.

As she shifted from her right side to her back to try to ease the pins and needles feeling in her side, she noticed a skinny, olive skinned youth with glasses and ratty clothes walking around muttering to himself. The gang didn't seem to think him any threat, but he wasn't part of their number because he'd been hit for stealing food from them on more than one occasion.

"A British soldier causes concern. They say he may bring more." The boy, Morerro, he was called, said.

"His terrible long gun rips holes and shreds in bodies. He'd best reach these captives bound before they are taken to a place of great sorrow..." Morrero said. He slid Diane's gag off her mouth.

"What British soldier? Are there more of them?" Diane whispered, "Can you get to the Allies?"

"Don't know if I can get there without being seen. The eyes of the Heartless are quite keen. Hark your captors do return, I'd best silence you again. The Allies shall learn..." Morerro said, gagging Diane again.

* * *

"So this Morerro kid knows where the gangs are taking Diane? Or which gang has her." I say.

Cascade smiles, "You are here on a labor of love. Beware, Rusty Puckett, for this is a dangerous path you tread. Many have gone in pursuit of missing loved ones, only to die."  
  
"The motto of the Regiment, Who Dares, Wins." I reply, chambering another round into my shotgun just as I see Cascade aiming the pistol at me. I'm convinced that my quest will end in a Mexican standoff against this woman and Diane will be forever lost.

She aims the pistol away from me and fires. I see a Shadow Heartless fall dead behind me. Two more are leaping my way, only to be blown out of the sky by a cloud of buckshot from the shotgun. Both of them fall, mangled heaps in a shower of black blood, to the stony floor of the Second District.

"Where is this Morerro kid?" I ask, "Who is he?"

"He's known as the Insane Child of Traverse Town. Since his world, Wonderland, was taken over by the Heartless he lost his sanity." Cascade replies, "He is seen as harmless by the gangs."

I know one thing, these gangs, the Heartless, I'm not daunted. I'll fight through every last one of them to save Diane. Even though she may love another man, I will do all in my power to save her from her captors, even if I must die myself.

"Your devotion to her is great. But are you willing to give your all to bring her back. Many who have tried, many stronger than thee, but they have succumbed to the darkness..." Cascade says.

Before I can reply I hear gunshots in the Third District. Someone's being chased. I check that both my weapons are loaded and sneak into the Third District. As I do, I feel I've taken the first step into an unknown and dangerous world...

* * *

TBC: Coming in the next couple of chapters...the Haunted Mansion...


End file.
